Weird Tales
Robert RRoward
(Stories by
Robert W. Chambers
frank B. Long, Jr. j
Edmond Hamilton m
Everil IDorrell J
(Stephen Bagby B
Eli Colter I|
and others
S/iuffuyt 41
J
FUTURE ISSUES
A w e al th of fascinating stories is scheduled for early publication in Weird
Tales, the unique magazine. The brilliant success of Weird Tales has
been founded on its unrivaled, superb stories of the strange, the grotesque
and the terrible—gripping stories that stimulate the imagination and send
shivers of apprehension up the spine—tales that take the reader from the
humdrum world about us into a deathless realm of fancy—marvelous tales
so thrillingly told that they seem, very real. Weird Tales prints the best
weird fiction in the world today. If Poe were alive he would undoubtedly
be a contributor. In addition to creepy mystery stories, ghost-tales, stories
of devil-worship, witchcraft, vampires and strange monsters, this magazine
also prints the cream of the weird-scientific fiction that is written today—
tales of the spaces between the worlds, surgical stories, and stories that scan
the future with the eye of prophecy. Among the amazing tales in the next
few issues will be:
THE WEREWOLF’S DAUGHTER, by H. Warner Munn
The strange and eery fate of the daughter of the Werewolf of Ponkert
makes one of the most fascinating weird tales ever written.
THE POLAR DOOM, by Edmond Hamilton
Hidden away for centuries under the arctic Ice was a strange city—a breath¬
taking narrative of the horror that burst upon the world when that frozen
city was brought again into the sunlight.
BODY AND SOUL, by Seabury Quinn
Jules de Grandin, the little French ghost-breaker, unravels the most difficult
occult mystery of his career, and plunges into frightful danger while doing so.
INVISIBLE THREADS, by Arthur J. Burks
While the bodies of Epiphany’s two agents lay stretched out on marble slabs,
their souls roved the city on errands of justice and retribution—a strange
story of occult vengeance.
THE OATH OF HUL JOK, by Nictzin Dyalhis
Weirdly and unbelievably terrible was the lo* of mankind on the green star.
Earth, when the war-lords of Venus came hither—a brilliant and thrilling
story of thousands of years in the future, by the author of “When the Green
Star Waned.”
THE MYSTERY IN ACATLAN, by Rachael Marshall and
Maverick Terrell
It happened in Acatlan, that peculiar Mexican city where anything is pos¬
sible, and the uncanny horror of it drove the American to seek forgetful¬
ness in strange drugs.
THE COPPER BOWL, by Captain G. F. Eliot
A gripping torture-stoty of China—a powerful horror-tale that will make
the blood run cold.
T HESE are but a few of the many super-excellent stories in store for
the readers of Weird Tales. To make sure of getting your copy each
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Published monthly by the Popular Fiction Publishing Company, 2457 E. Wash¬
ington Street, Indianapolis, Ind. Entered as second-class matter March 20, 1923, at
the post office at Indianapolis, Ind., under the act ot March 3, 1879. Single copies, 25
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NOTE —All manuscripts and communications should be addressed to the publishers’
Chicago office at 450 East Ohio Street, Chicago, Ill. FARNSWORTH WRIGHT, Editor.
Copyright. 1928, by the Popular Fiction Publishing Company
Contents for August, 1928
Cover Design_C. C. Senf
Illustrating a scene in “Red Shadows”
Black Mora_A. Leslie 148
Verse; decoration by Hugh Rankin
Red Shadows_Robert E. Howard 149
Thrilling adventures and blood-freezing perils—red shadows
on black trails—savage witchcraft and the Black God
You Can’t Kill a Ghost_Frank Belknap Long, Jr. 165
An eery ghost-tale of Haiti—a weird adventure in a ruth¬
less land, in which a phantom is the hero
Vulture Crag_Everil Worrell 171
A weird-scientific tale of projection to other planets, by the
author of ‘‘The Bird of Space” and “Cattle of Furos”
The Rose Window_Charlton Lawrence Edholm 187
Back in the old town of Tuebingen a futile murder took
place—a tale of treachery, superstition, and reincarnation
[CONTINUED ON NEXT PAGE]
146 COPYRIGHTED IN GREAT BRITAIN
[continued from preceding page]
Crashing Suns (Part 1)_Edmond Hamilton 193
A two-part tale of a hundred thousand years in the future —
when our universe is threatened with destruction
The Man in the Green Coat_Eli Colter 215
A fascinating story of the supernatural, in the best vein of
this well-known author.
Sonnets of the Midnight Hours:
5. The Grip of Evil Dream_Donald Wandrei 231
Verse; decoration by:Hugh Rankin
The Witches’ Sabbath (Conclusion)_Stephen Bagby 232
A two-part serial story of devil-worship, witchcraft, and
the Black Mass
Dirge_Leavenworth Macnab 252
Verse
The Vengeance of Nitocris_Thomas Lanier Williams 253
Weird revenge was taken by the sister of the Pharaoh on
those who had murderedhim—a true story of old Egypt
Three Poems in Prose___Charles Baudelaire 261
Translated by Clark Ashton Smith from the French
Folks Used to Believe:
Wonderfully Preserved Relics_Alvin F. Harlow 263
Strange beliefs regarding the relics of the saints
The Justice of the Czar_George Fielding Eliot 264
A grim tale of torture in the prisons of the Czar Peter the
Great—and the fate suffered by the executioner
Weird Story Reprint:
The Demoiselle D’Ys_Robert W. Chambers 268
A strange tale of reincarnation, and falconry, and the love
of a stranger for a Norman maid
The Eyrie__ 278
A chat with the readers
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My cloak and plume were scarlet
(My hands were scarlet too),
And high above my taffrail
The Raven Banner flew.
What cared I for Britain!
What cared I for Spain!
I was law and terror
There upon the Main.
Pistol, dirk and cutlas;
Keelhaul, yard-arm, flame—
Mon feared God Almighty
Less than Mora’s name!
Now in gold and velvet
I sail these seas again,
I, the outlawed pirate,
An Admiral of Spain.
Dock and gallows cheated
Of their rightful due;
Hell and Satan euchered
By a godless crew.
Freed by Seal and Parchment
From the Brand of Cain,
Mora walks the quarter—
An Admiral of Spain!
Red-Shadows
“He sheathed his dagger to
the hilt in the Rat’s back.”
1. The Coming of Solomon
T HE moonlight shimmered
hazily, making silvery mists
of illusion among the shad¬
owy trees. A faint breeze whispered
down the valley, bearing a shadow
that was not of the moon-mist. A
faint scent of smoke was apparent.
The man whose long, swinging
strides, unhurried yet unswerving,
had carried him for many a mile
since sunrise, stopped suddenly. A
movement in the trees had caught his
attention, and he moved silently to¬
ward the shadows, a hand resting
lightly on the hilt of his long, slim
rapier.
Warily he advanced, his eyes striv¬
ing to pierce the darkness that
brooded under the trees. This was a
wild and menacing country; death'
might be lurking under those trees.
Then his hand fell away from the hilt
and he leaned forward. Death indeed
was there, but not in such shape as
might cause him fear.
“The fires of Hades!” he mur¬
mured. “A girl! What has harmed
you, child? Be not afraid of me.”
The girl looked up at him, her face
like a dim white rose in the dark.
“You—who are—you?” her words
came in gasps.
“Naught but a wanderer, a land¬
less man, but a friend to all in
need.” The gentle voice sounded
somehow incongruous, coming from
the man.
The girl sought to prop herself up
on her elbow, and instantly he knelt
149
150
WEIRD TALES
and raised her to a sitting position,
her head resting against his shoulder.
His hand touched her breast and
came away red and wet.
“Tell me." His voice was soft,
soothing, as one speaks to a babe.
“Le Loup,” she gasped, her voice
swiftly growing weaker. “He and
his men—descended upon our village
—a mile up the valley. They robbed
—slew—burned-’ ’
“That, then, was the smoke I
scented,” muttered the man. “Go
on, child.”
“I ran. He, the Wolf, pursued me
—and—caught me-” The words
died away in a shuddering silence.
“I understand, child. Then-?”
“Then—he—he—stabbed me—with
his dagger—oh, blessed saints!—
mercy-”
Suddenly the slim form went limp.
The man eased her to the earth, and
touched her brow lightly.
“Dead!” he muttered.
Slowly he rose, mechanically wip¬
ing his hands upon his cloak. A dark
scowl had settled on his somber
brow. Yet he made no wild, reckless
vow, swore no oath by saints or
devils.
“Men shall die for this,” he said
coldly.
2. The Lair of fhe Wolf
“’VT’otj are a fool!” The words
* came in a cold snarl that cur¬
dled the hearer’s blood.
He who had just been named a
fool lowered his eyes sullenly with¬
out answer.
“You and all the others I lead!”
The speaker leaned forward, his fist
pounding emphasis on the rude table
between them. He was a tall, rangy-
built. man, supple as a leopard and
with a lean, cruel, predatory face.
His eyes danced and glittered with a
kind of reckless mockery.
The fellow spoken to replied sul¬
lenly, “This Solomon Kane is a
demon from hell, I tell you.”
“Faugh! Dolt! He is a man—who
will die from a pistol ball or a sword
thrust.”
“So thought Jean, Juan and La
Costa,” answered the other grimly.
“Where are they? Ask the moun¬
tain wolves that tore the flesh from
their dead bones. Where does this
Kane hide? We have searched the
mountains and the valleys for
leagues, and we have found no trace.
I tell you, Le Loup, he comes up
from hell. I knew no good would
•come from hanging that friar a moon
ago.”
The Wolf strummed impatiently
upon the table. His keen face,
despite lines of wild living and dissi¬
pation, was the face of a thinker.
The superstitions of his followers
affected him not at all.
“Faugh! I say again. The fellow
has found some cavern or secret
vale of which we do not know where
he hides in the day.”
“And at night he sallies forth and
slays us,” gloomily commented the
other. “He hunts us down as a wolf
hunts deer—by God, Le Loup, you
name yourself Wolf but I think you
have met at last a fiercer and more
crafty wolf than yourself! The first
we know of this man is when we find
Jean, the most desperate bandit un¬
hung, nailed to a tree with his own
dagger through his breast, and the
letters S. L. K. carved upon his
dead cheeks. Then the Spaniard
Juan is struck down, and after we
find him he lives long enough to tell
us that the slayer is an Englishman,
Solomon Kane, who has sworn to
destroy our entire band! What
then? La Costa, a swordsman sec¬
ond only to yourself, goes forth
swearing to meet this Kane. By the
demons of perdition, it seems he
met him! For we found his sword-
pierced corpse upon a cliff. What
now? Are we all to fall before this
English fiend?”
“True, our best men have been
done to death by him,” mused the
RED SHADOWS
151
bandit chief. “Soon the rest return
from that little trip to the hermit’s;
then we shall see. Kane can not
hide forever. Then—ha, what was
that ? ’ ’
The two turned swiftly as a shad¬
ow fell across the table. Into the
entrance of the cave that formed the
bandit lair, a man staggered. His
eyes were wide and staring; he
reeled on buckling legs, and a dark
red stain dyed his tunic. He came a
few tottering steps forward, then
pitched across the table, sliding off
onto the floor.
“Hell’s devils!” cursed the Wolf,
hauling him upright and propping
him in a chair. “Where are the rest,
curse you?”
“Dead! All dead!”
“How? Satan’s curses on you,
speak!” The Wolf shook the man
savagely, - the other bandit gazing on
in wide-eyed horror.
“We reached the hermit’s hut just
as the moon rose, ’ ’ the man muttered.
“I stayed outside—to watch—the
others went in—to torture the hermit
—to make him reveal—the hiding-
place—of his gold.”
“Yes, yes! Then what?” The
Wolf was raging with impatience.
“Then the world turned red—the
hut went up in a roar and a red rain
flooded the valley—through it I saw
—the hermit and a tall man clad all
in black—coming from the trees ”
“Solomon Kane!” gasped the ban¬
dit. “I knew it! I-”
“Silence, fool!” snarled the chief.
“Go on!”
“I fled—Kane pursued—wounded
me—but I outran—him—got—here—
first-”
The man slumped forward on the
table.
“Saints and devils!” raged the
Wolf. “What does he look like, this
Kane?”
4 4 Like—Satan-’ ’
The voice trailed off in silence.
The dead man slid from the table to
lie in a red heap upon the floor.
“Like Satan!” babbled the other
bandit. 4 ‘ I told you! ’Tis the Horned
One himself! I tell you-”
He ceased as a frightened face
peered in at the cave entrance.
4 4 Kane ? ’ ’
“Aye.” The Wolf was too much
at sea to lie. “Keep close watch, La
Mon; in a moment the Rat and I
will join you.”
The face withdrew and Le Loup
turned to the other.
“This ends the band,” said he.
“You, I, and that thief La Mon are
all that are left. What would you
suggest?”
The Rat’s pallid lips barely formed
the word: ‘ 4 Flight! ’ ’
“You are right. Let us take the
gems and gold from the chests and
flee, using the secret passageway.”
“And La Mon?”
“He can watch until we are ready
to flee. Then—why divide the treas¬
ure three ways?”
A faint smile touched the Rat’s
malevolent features. Then a sudden
thought smote him.
“He,” indicating the corpse on
the floor, “said, ‘I got here first.’
Does that mean Kane was pursuing
him here ? ’ ’ And as the Wolf nodded
impatiently the other turned to the
chests with chattering haste.
The flickering candle on the rough
table lighted up a strange and wild
scene. The light, uncertain and danc¬
ing, gleamed redly in the slowly
widening lake of blood in which the
dead man lay; it danced upon the
heaps of gems and coins emptied
hastily upon the floor from the brass-
bound chests that ranged the walls;
and it glittered in the eyes of the
Wolf with the same gleam which
sparkled from his sheathed dagger.
The chests were empty, their treas¬
ure lying in a shimmering mass upon
the blood-stained floor. The Wolf
stopped and listened. Outside was
silence. There was no moon, and Le
Loup’s keen imagination pictured the
dark slayer, Solomon Kane, gliding
152
WEIRD TALES
through the blackness, a shadow
among shadows. He grinned crooked¬
ly; this time the Englishman would
be foiled.
“There is a chest yet unopened,”
said he, pointing.
The Eat, with a muttered exclama¬
tion of surprize, bent over the chest
indicated. Witli a single, catlike mo¬
tion, the Wolf sprang upon him,
sheathing his dagger to the hilt in the
Rat’s back, between the shoulders.
The Rat sagged to the floor without
a sound.
“Why divide the treasure two
ways?” murmured Le Loup, wiping
his blade upon the dead man’s doub¬
let. “Now for La Mon.”
He stepped toward the door; then
stopped and shrank back.
A t first he thought that it was the
shadow of a man who stood in
the entrance; then he saw that it was
a man himself, though so dark and
still he stood that a fantastic sem¬
blance of shadow was lent him by the
guttering candle.
A tall man, as tall as Le Loup he
was, clad in black from head to foot,
in plain, close-fitting garments that
somehow suited the somber face. Long
arms and broad shoulders betokened
the swordsman, as plainly as the long
rapier in his hand. The features of
the man were saturnine and gloomy.
A kind of dark pallor lent him a
ghostly appearance in the uncertain
light, an effect heightened by the Sa¬
tanic darkness of his lowering brows.
Eyes, large, deep-set and unblinking,
fixed their gaze upon the bandit, and
looking into them, Le Loup was un¬
able to decide what color they were.
Strangely, the mephistophelean trend
of the lower features was offset by
a high, broad forehead, though this
was partly hidden by a featherless
hat.
That forehead marked the dreamer,
the idealist, the introvert, just as the
eyes and the thin, straight nose be¬
trayed the fanatic. An observer
would have been struck by the eyes
of the two men who stood there, fac¬
ing each other. Eyes of both be¬
tokened untold deeps of power, but
there the resemblance ceased.
The eyes of the bandit were hard,
almost opaque, with a curious scin-
tillant shallowness that reflected a
thousand changing lights and gleams,
like some strange gem; there was
mockery in those eyes, cruelty and
recklessness.
The eyes of the man in black, on
the other hand, deep-set and staring
from under prominent brows, were
cold but deep; gazing into them,
one had the impression of looking
into countless fathoms of ice.
Now the eyes clashed, and the
Wolf, who was used to being feared,
felt a strange coolness on his spine.
The sensation was new to him—a
new thrill to one who lived for
thrills, and he laughed suddenly.
“You are Solomon Kane, I sup¬
pose?” he asked, managing to make
his question sound politely incurious.
“I am Solomon Kane.” The voice
was resonant and powerful. “Are
you prepared to meet your God?”
“Why, Monsieur ,” Le Loup an¬
swered, bowing, “I assure you I am
as ready as I ever will be. I might
ask Monsieur the same question.”
“No doubt I stated my inquiry
wrongly,” Kane said grimly. “I
will change it: Are you prepared to
meet your master, the Devil?”
“As to that, Monsieur ”—Le Loup
examined his finger nails with elab¬
orate unconcern—“I must say that
I can at present render a most satis¬
factory account to his Horned Excel¬
lency, though really I have no inten¬
tion of so doing—for a while at
least.”
Le Loup did not wonder as to the
fate of La Mon; Kane’s presence in
the cave was sufficient answer that
did not need the trace of blood on his
rapier to verify it.
“What I wish to know, Monsieur
said the bandit, “is why in the
RED SHADOWS
153
Devil’s name have you harassed my
band as you have, and how did you
destroy that last set of fools?”
“Your last question is easily an¬
swered, sir,” Kane replied. “I my¬
self had the tale spread that the
hermit possessed a store of gold,
knowing that would draw your scum
as carrion draws vultures. For days
and nights I have watched the hut,
and tonight, when I saw your villains
coming, I warned the hermit, and to¬
gether we went among the trees back
of the hut. Then, when the rogues
were inside, I struck flint and steel to
the train I had laid, and flame ran
through the trees like a red snake un¬
til it reached the powder I had placed
beneath the hut floor. Then the hut
and thirteen sinners went to hell in a
great roar of flame and smoke.
True, one escaped, but him I had
slain in the forest had not I stumbled
and fallen upon a broken root, which
gave him time to elude me.”
“Monsieur,” said Le Loup with
another low bow, “I grant you the
admiration I must needs bestow on a
brave and shrewd foeman. Yet tell
me this: Why have you followed me
as a wolf follows deer?”
“Some moons ago,” said Kane, his
frown becoming more menacing,
‘‘you and your fiends raided a small
village down the valley. You know
the details better than I. There was
a girl there, a mere child, who, hoping
to escape your lust, fled up the valley;
but you, you jackal of hell, you
caught her and left her, violated and
dying. I found her there, and above
her dead form I made up my mind to
hunt you down and kill you.”
“H’m,” mused the Wolf. “Yes, I
remember the wench. Mon Dieu, so
the softer sentiments enter into the
affair! Monsieur, I had not thought
you an amorous man; be not jealous,
good fellow, there are many more
wenches. ’ ’
“Le Loup, take care!” Kane ex¬
claimed, a terrible menace in his voice,
“I have never yet done a' man to
death by torture, but by God, sir, you
tempt me! ”
The tone, and more especially the
unexpected oath, coming as it did
from Kane, slightly sobered Le Loup;
his eyes narrowed and his hand
moved toward his rapier. The air was
tense for an instant; then the Wolf
relaxed elaborately.
“Who was the girl?” he asked idly,
“Your wife?”
‘ ‘ I never saw her before, ’ ’ answered
Kane.
“Norn d’un nom!” swore the ban¬
dit. “What sort of a man are you,
Monsieur, who takes up a feud of this
sort merely to avenge a wench un¬
known to you?”
“That, sir, is my own affair; it is
sufficient that I do so. ’ ’
Kane could not have explained,
even to himself, nor did he ever seek
an explanation within himself. A
true fanatic, his promptings were
reasons enough for his actions.
“You are right, Monsieur.” Le
Loup was sparring now for time; cas¬
ually he edged backward inch by inch,
with such consummate acting skill that
he aroused no suspicion even in the
hawk who watched him. “Monsieur,”
said he, “possibly you will say that
you are merely a noble cavalier, wan¬
dering about like a true Galahad, pro¬
tecting the weaker; but you and I
know different. There on the floor is
the equivalent to an emperor’s ran¬
som. Let us divide it peaceably;
then if you like not my company, why
—nom d’un nom! —we can go our
separate ways. ’ ’
Kane leaned forward, a terrible
brooding threat growing in his cold
eyes. He seemed like a great condor
about to launch himself upon his vic¬
tim.
“Sir, do you assume me to be as
great a villain as yourself?”
Suddenly Le Loup threw back his
head, his eyes dancing and leaping
with a wild mockery and a kind of in¬
sane recklessness. His shout of laugh¬
ter sent the echoes flying.
154
WEIRD TALES
“Gods of hell! No, you fool, I do
not class you with myself! Mon Dieu,
Monsieur Kane, you have a task in¬
deed if you intend to avenge all the
wenches who have known my favors!”
“Shades of death! Shall I waste
time in parleying with this base
scoundrel! ’ ’ Kane snarled in a voice
suddenly blood-thirsting, and his lean
frame flashed forward like a bent bow
suddenly released.
At the same instant Le Loup with a
wild laugh bounded backward with a
movement as swift as Kane's. His
timing was perfect; his back-flung
hands struck the table and hurled it
aside, plunging the cave into dark¬
ness as the candle toppled and went
out.
Kane’s rapier sang like an arrow in
the dark as he thrust blindly and
ferociously.
“Adieu, Monsieur Galahad!” The
taunt came from somewhere in front
of him, but Kane, plunging toward the
sound with the savage fury of baffled
wrath, caromed against a blank wall
that did not yield to his blow. From
somewhere seemed to come an echo of
a mocking laugh.
Kane whirled, eyes fixed on the
dimly outlined entrance, thinking his
foe would try to slip past him and out
of the cave; but no form bulked there,
and when his groping hands found
the candle and lighted it, the cave was
empty, save for himself and the dead
men on the floor.
3. The Chant of the Drums
A cross the dusky waters the whisper
came: boom, boom, boom!—a sul¬
len reiteration. Far away and more
faintly sounded a whisper of different
timbre: thrum, throom, thrum! Back
and forth went the vibrations as the
throbbing drums spoke to each other.
What tales did they carry? What
monstrous secrets whispered across
the sullen, shadowy reaches of the un¬
mapped jungle?
“This, you are sure, is the bay
where the Spanish ship put in?”
“Yes, Senhor; the negro swears
this is the bay where the white man
left the ship alone and went into the
jungle. ’ ’
Kane nodded grimly.
“Then put me ashore here, alone.
Wait seven days; then if I have not
returned and if you have no word of
me, set sail wherever you will. ’ ’
“Yes, Senhor
The waves slapped lazily against
the sides of the boat that carried Kane
ashore. The village that he sought
was on the river bank but set back
from the bay shore, the jungle hiding
it from sight of the ship.
Kane had adopted what seemed the
most hazardous course, that of going
ashore by night, for the reason that
he knew, if the man he sought were
in the village, he would never reach it
by day. As it was, he was taking a
most desperate chance in daring the
nighttime jungle, but all his life he
had been used to taking desperate
chances. Now he gambled his life
upon the slim chance of gaining the
negro village under cover of darkness
and unknown to the villagers.-
At the beach he left the boat with a
few muttered commands, and as the
rowers put back to the ship which lay
anchored some distance out in the bay,
he turned and engulfed himself in
the blackness of the jungle. Sword
in one hand, dagger in the other, he
stole forward, seeking to keep pointed
in the direction from which the drums
still muttered and grumbled.
He went with the stealth and easy
movement of a leopard, feeling his
way cautiously, every nerve alert and
straining, but the way was not easy.
Vines tripped him and slapped him in
the face, impeding his progress; he
was forced to grope his way between
the huge boles of towering trees, and
all through the underbrush about him
sounded vague and menacing rust¬
lings and shadows of movement.
Thrice his foot touched something
RED SHADOWS
155
that moved beneath it and writhed
away, and once he glimpsed the bale¬
ful glimmer of feline eyes among the
trees. They vanished, however, as he
advanced.
Thrum, thrum, thrum, came the
ceaseless monotone of the drums: war
and death (they said); blood and
lust; human sacrifice and human
feast! The soul of Africa (said the
drums); the spirit of the jungle; the
chant of the gods of outer darkness,
the gods that roar and gibber, the
gods men knew when dawns were
young, beast-eyed, gaping-mouthed,
huge-bellied, bloody-handed, the
Black Gods (sang the drums).
All this and more the drums roared
and bellowed to Kane as he worked
his way through the forest. Some¬
where in his soul a responsive chord
was smitten and answered. You too
are of the night (sang the drums)';
there is the strength of darkness, the
strength of the primitive in you; come
back down the ages; let us teach you,
let us teach you (chanted the drums).
Kane stepped out of the thick
jungle and came upon a plainly de¬
fined trail. Beyond, through the trees
came the gleam of the village fires,
flames glowing through the palisades.
Kane walked down the trail swiftly.
He went silently and warily, sword
extended in front of him, eyes strain¬
ing to catch any hint of movement in
the darkness ahead, for the trees
loomed like sullen giants on each
hand; sometimes their great branches
intertwined above the trail and he
could see only a slight way ahead of
him.
Like a dark ghost he moved along
the shadowed trail; alertly he stared
and harkened; yet no warning came
first to him, as a great, vague bulk
rose up out of the shadows and struck
him down, silently.
4. The Black God
dence was repeated, over and over,
bearing out the same theme: “Fool—
fool—fool!” Now it was far away,
now he could stretch out his hand and
almost reach it. Now it merged with
the throbbing in his head until the
two vibrations were as one: “Fool—
fool—fool—fool- ’ ’
The fogs faded and vanished. Kane
sought to raise his hand to his head,
but found that he was bound hand
and foot. He lay on the floor of a hut—
alone ? He twisted about to view the
place. No, two eyes glimmered at him
from the darkness. Now a form took
shape, and Kane, still mazed, believed
that he looked on the man who had
struck him unconscious. Yet no; this
man could never strike such a blow.
He was lean, withered and wrinkled.
The only thing that seemed alive
about him were his eyes, and they
seemed like the eyes of a snake.
The man squatted on the floor of
the hut, near the doorway, naked save
for a loin-cloth and the usual para¬
phernalia of bracelets, anklets and
armlets. Weird fetishes of ivory, bone
and hide, animal and human, adorned
his arms and legs. Suddenly and un¬
expectedly he spoke in English.
“Ha, you wake, white man? Why
you come here, eh?”
Kane asked the inevitable question,
following the habit of the Caucasian.
“You speak my language—how is
that ? ’ ’
The black man grinned.
“I slave—long time, me boy. Me,
N’Longa, ju-ju man, me, great fetish.
No black man like me! You white
man, you hunt brother?”
Kane snarled. “I! Brother! I seek
a man, yes.”
The negro nodded. “Maybe so you
find um, eh ? ”
“He dies!”
Again the negro grinned. “Me
pow’rful ju-ju man,” he announced
apropos of nothing. He bent closer.
“White man you hunt, eyes like a
leopard, eh? Yes? Ha! ha! ha! ha!
Listen, white man: man-with-eyes-of-
a-leopard, he and Chief Songa make
156
WEIRD TALES
pow’rful palaver; they blood brothers
now. Say nothing, I help you; you
help me, eh ? ”
‘‘Why should you help me?” asked
Kane suspiciously.
The ju-ju man bent closer and
whispered, “White man Songa’s
right-hand man; Songa more pow’rful
than N’Longa. White man mighty
ju-ju! N’Longa’s white brother kill
man-with-eyes-of-a-lcopard, be blood
brother to N’Longa, N’Longa be more
pow’rful than Songa; palaver set.”
And like a dusky ghost he floated
out of the hiit so swiftly that Kane
was not sure but that the whole affair
was a dream.
Without, Kane could see the flare
of fires. The drums were still boom¬
ing, but close at hand the tones
merged and mingled, and the impulse-
producing vibrations were lost. All
seemed a barbaric clamor without
rime or reason, yet there was an
undertone of mockery there, savage
and gloating. ‘ ‘ Lies, ’ ’ thought Kane,
his mind still swimming, “jungle lies
like jungle women that lure a man to
his doom. ’ ’
Two warriors entered the h,ut—
black giants, hideous with paint and
armed with crude spears. They lifted
the white man and carried him out of
the hut. They bore him across an
open space, leaned him upright
against a post and bound him there.
About him, behind him and- to the
side, a great semicircle of black faces
leered and faded in the firelight as
the flames leaped and sank. There in
front of him loomed a shape hideous
and obscene—a black, formless thing,
a grotesque parody of the human.
Still, brooding, blood-stained, like the
formless soul of Africa, the horror,
the Black God.
And in front and to each side, upon
roughly carven thrones of teakwood,
sat two men. He who sat upon the
right was a black man, huge, ungain¬
ly. a gigantic and unlovely mass of
dusky flesh and muscles. Small, hog¬
like eyes blinked out over sin-marked
cheeks; huge, flabby red lips pursed
in fleshly haughtiness.
The other-
“Ah, Monsieur, we meet again.”
The speaker was far from being the
debonair villain who had taunted
Kane in the cavern among the moun¬
tains. His clothes were rags; there
were more lines in his face; he had
sunk lower in the years that had
passed. Yet his eyes still gleamed
and danced with their old recklessness
and his voice held the same mocking
timbre.
“The last time I heard that ac¬
cursed voice,” said Kane calmly,
“was in a cave, in darkness, whence
you fled like a hunted rat. ’ ’
“Aye, under different conditions,”
answered Le Loup imperturbably.
“What did you do after blundering
about like an elephant in the dark?”
Kane hesitated, then: “I left the
mountain-”
“By the front entrance? Yes? I
might have known you were too stu¬
pid to find the secret door. Hoofs of
the Devil, had you thrust against the
chest with the golden lock, which
stood against the wall, the door had
opened to you and revealed the secret
passageway through which I went.”
“I traced you to the nearest port
and there took ship and followed you
to Italy, where I found you had
gone.”
“Aye, by the saints, you nearly
cornered me in Florence. Ho! ho! ho!
I was climbing through a back win¬
dow while Monsieur Galahad was bat¬
tering down the front door of the tav¬
ern. And had your horse not gone
lame, you would have caught up with
me on the road to Rome. Again, the
ship on which I left Spain had barely
put out to sea when Monsieur Galahad
rides up to the wharfs. Why have
you followed me like this? I do not
understand. ’ ’
“Because you are a rogue whom it
is my destiny to kill,” answered Kane
coldly. He did not understand. All
his life he had roamed about the
RED SHADOWS
157
“The dead man reeled and fell with him.”
world aiding the weak and fighting
oppression, he neither knew nor ques¬
tioned why. That was his obsession,
his driving force of life. Cruelty and
tyranny to the weak sent a red blaze
of fury, fierce and lasting, through
his soul. When the full flame of his
hatred was wakened and loosed, there
was no rest for him until his ven¬
geance had been fulfilled to the utter¬
most. If he thought of it at all, he
considered himself a fulfiller of God’s
judgment, a vessel of wrath to be
emptied upon the souls of the un¬
righteous. Yet in the full sense of
the word Solomon Kane was not
wholly a Puritan, though he thought
of himself as such.
Le Loup shrugged his shoulders.
“I could understand had I wronged
you personally. Mon Dieu! I, too,
would follow an enemy across the
world, but, though I would have joy-
158
WEIRD TALES
fully slain and robbed you, I never
heard of you until you declared war
on me.”
K ane was silent, his still fury over¬
coming him. Though he did not
realize it, the Wolf was more than
merely an enemy to him; the bandit
symbolized, to Kane, all the things
against which the Puritan had fought
all his life: cruelty, outrage, oppres¬
sion and tyranny.
Le Loup broke in on his vengeful
meditations. “What did you do with
the treasure, which—gods of Hades!
—took me years to accumulate ? Devil
take it, I had time only to snatch a
handful of coins and trinkets as I
ran. ’ ’
“I took such as I needed to hunt
you down. The rest I gave to the vil¬
lages which you had looted. ’ ’
“Saints and the devil!” swore Le
Loup. “Monsieur, you are the great¬
est fool I have yet met. To throw
that vast treasure—by Satan, I rage
to think of it in the hands of base
peasants, vile villagers! Yet, ho! ho!
ho! ho! they will steal, and kill each
other for it! That is human nature. ’ ’
“Yes, damn you!” flamed Kane
suddenly, showing that his conscience
had not been at rest. “Doubtless they
will, being fools. Yet what could I
do? Had I left it there, people might
have starved and gone naked for lack
of it. More, it would have been
found, and theft and slaughter would
have followed anyway. You are to
blame, for had this treasure been left
with its rightful owners, no such
trouble would have ensued.”'
The Wolf grinned without reply.
Kane not being a profane man, his
rare curses had double effect and al¬
ways startled his hearers, no matter
how vicious or hardened they might
be.
It was Kane who spoke next.
“Why have you fled from me across
the world? You do not really fear
me.”
“No, you are right. Really I do
not know; perhaps flight is a habit
which is difficult to break. I made
my mistake when I did not kill you
that night in the mountains. I am
sure I could kill you in a fair fight,
yet I have never even, ere now, sought
to ambush you. Somehow I have not
had a liking to meet you, Monsieur —
a whim of mine, a mere whim. Then—
mon Dieu !—mayhap I have enjoyed
a new sensation—and I had thought
that I had exhausted the thrills of
life. And then, a man must either be
the hunter or the hunted. Until now,
Monsieur, I was the hunted, but I
grew weary of the role—I thought I
had thrown you off the trail.
“A negro slave, brought from this
vicinity, told a Portugal ship captain
of a white man who landed from a
Spanish ship and went into the jun¬
gle. I heard of it and hired the ship,
paying the captain to bring me here.
“Monsieur, I admire you for your
attempt, but you must admire me,
too! Alone I came into this village,
and alone among savages and canni¬
bals I—with some slight knowledge
of the language learned from a slave
aboard ship—I gained the confidence
of King Songa and supplanted that
mummer, N ’Longa. I am a braver
man than you, Monsieur, for I had no
ship to retreat to, and a ship is wait¬
ing for you.”
“I admire your courage,” said
Kane, “but you are content to rule
amongst cannibals—you the blackest
soul of them all. I intend to return
to my own people when I have slain
you. ’ ’
“Your confidence would be admi¬
rable were it not amusing. Ho,
Gulka!”
A giant negro stalked into the
space between them. He was the hug¬
est man that Kane had ever seen,
though he moved with catlike ease
and suppleness. His arms and legs
were like trees, and the great, sinuous
muscles rippled with each motion.
His apelike head was set squarely be¬
tween gigantic shoulders. His great,
RED SHADOWS
159
dusky hands were like the talons of
an ape, and his brow slanted back
from above bestial eyes. Flat nose
and great, thick red lips completed
this picture of primitive, lustful sav¬
agery.
“That is Gulka, the gorilla-slayer,”
said Le Loup. “He it was who lay in
wait beside the trail and smote you
down. You are like a wolf, yourself,
Monsieur Kane, but since your ship
hove in sight you have been watched
by many eyes, and had you had all the
powers of a leopard, you had not seen
Gulka nor heard him. He hunts the
most terrible and crafty of all beasts,
in their native forests, far to the
north, the beasts-who-walk-like-men—
as that one, whom he slew some days
since.”
Kane, following Le Loup’s fingers,
made out a curious, manlike thing,
dangling from a roof-pole of a hut.
A jagged end thrust through the
thing’s body held it there. Kane
could scarcely distinguish its charac¬
teristics by the firelight, but there was
a weird, humanlike semblance about
the hideous, hairy thing.
“A female gorilla that Gulka slew
and brought to the village,” said Le
Loup.
The giant black slouched close to
Kane and stared into the white man’s
eyes. Kane returned his gaze somber¬
ly, and presently the negro’s eyes
dropped sullenly and he slouched
back a few paces. The look in the
Puritan’s grim eyes had pierced the
primitive hazes of the gorilla-slayer’s
soul, and for the first time in his life
he felt fear. To throw this off, he
tossed a challenging look about; then,
with unexpected animalness, he struck
his huge chest resoundingly, grinned
cavemously and flexed his mighty
arms. No one spoke. Primordial
bestiality had the stage, and the more
highly developed types looked on with
various feelings of amusement, toler¬
ance or contempt.
Gulka glanced furtively at Kane to
see if the white man was watching
him, then with a sudden beastly roar,
plunged forward and dragged a man
from the semicircle. While the trem¬
bling victim screeched for mercy, the
giant hurled him upon the crude altar
before the shadowy idol. A spear rose
and flashed, and the screeching
ceased. The Black God looked on,
his monstrous features seeming to leer
in the flickering firelight. He had
drunk; was the Black God pleased
with the draft—with the sacrifice?
Gulka stalked back, and stopping
before Kane, flourished the bloody
spear before the white man’s face.
Le Loup laughed. Then suddenly
N’Longa appeared. He came from
nowhere in particular; suddenly he
was standing there, beside the post to
which Kane was bound. A lifetime
of study of the art of illusion had
given the ju-ju man a highly tech¬
nical knowledge of appearing and dis¬
appearing—which after all, consisted
only in timing the audience’s atten¬
tion.
He waved Gulka aside with a grand
gesture, and the gorilla-man slunk
back, apparently to get out of
N’Longa’s gaze—then with incredible
swiftness he turned and struck the
ju-ju man a terrific blow upon the
side of the head with his open hand.
N’Longa went down like a felled ox,
and in an instant he had been seized
and bound to a post close to Kane.
An uncertain murmuring rose from
the negroes, which died out as King
Songa stared angrily toward them.
Le Loup leaned back upon his
throne and laughed uproariously.
“The trail ends here, Monsieur
Galahad. That ancient fool thought
I did not know of his plotting! I was
hiding outside the hut and heard the
interesting conversation you two had.
Ha! ha! ha! ha! The Black God must
drink, Monsieur , but I have persuad¬
ed Songa to have you two burnt; that
will be much more enjoyable, though
we shall have to forego the usual
feast, I fear. For after the fires are
lit about your feet the devil himself
160
WEIRD TALES
could not keep your carcasses from
becoming charred frames of bone. ’ ’
Songa shouted something imperir
ously, and blacks came bearing wood,
which they piled about the feet of
N’Longa and Kane. The ju-ju man
had recovered consciousness, and he
now shouted something in his native
language. Again the murmuring
arose among the shadowy throng.
Songa snarled something in reply.
K ane gazed at the scene almost im¬
personally. Again, somewhere
in his soul, dim primal deeps were
stirring, age-old thought memories,
veiled in the fogs of lost cons. He had
been here before, thought Kane; he
knew all this of old—the lurid flames
beating back the sullen night, the
bestial faces leering expectantly, and
the god, the Black God, there in the
shadows! Always the Black God,
brooding back in the shadows. He
had known the shouts, the frenzied
chant of the worshipers, back there in
the gray dawn of the world, the
speech of the bellowing drums, the
singing priests, the repellent, inflam¬
ing, all-pervading scent of freshly
spilt blood. All this have I known,
somewhere, sometime, thought Kane;
now I am the main actor-
He became aware that someone was
speaking to him through the roar of
the drums; he had not realized that
the drums had begun to boom again.
The speaker was N’Longa:
“Me pow’rful ju-ju man! Watch
now: I work mighty magic. Songa!”
His voice rose in a screech that
drowned out the wildly clamoring
drums.
Songa grinned at the words
N’Longa screamed at him. The chant
of the drums now had dropped to a
low, sinister monotone and Kane
plainly heard Le Loup when he spoke:
“N’Longa says that he will now
work that magic which it is death to
speak, even. Never before has it been
worked in the sight of living men; it
is the nameless ju-ju magic. Watch
closely, Monsieur; possibly we shall
be further amused.” The Wolf
laughed lightly and sardonically.
A black man stooped, applying a
torch to the wood about Kane’s feet.
Tiny jets of flame began to leap up
and catch. Another bent to do the
same with N’Longa, then hesitated.
The ju-ju man sagged in his bonds;
his head drooped upon his chest. He
seemed dying.
Le Loup leaned forward, cursing,
“Feet of the Devil! is the scoundrel
about to cheat us of our pleasure of
seeing him writhe in the flames?”
The warrior gingerly touched the
wizard and said something in his own
language.
Le Loup laughed: “He died of
fright. A great wizard, by the-”
His voice trailed off suddenly. The
drums stopped as if the drummers
had fallen dead simultaneously. Si¬
lence dropped like a fog upon the vil¬
lage and in the stillness Kane heard
only the sharp crackle of the flames
whose heat he was beginning to feel.
All eyes were turned upon the dead
man upon the altar, for the corpse
had begun to move!
First a twitching of a hand, then
an aimless motion of an arm, a mo¬
tion which gradually spread over the
body and limbs. Slowly, with blind,
uncertain gestures, the dead man
turned upon his side, the trailing
limbs found the earth. Then, hor¬
ribly like something being born, like
some frightful reptilian thing burst¬
ing the shell of non-existence, the
corpse tottered and reared upright,
standing on legs wide apart and
stiffly braced, arms still making use¬
less, infantile motions. Utter silence,
save somewhere a man’s quick breath
sounded loud in the stillness.
Kane stared, for the first time in
his life smitten speechless and
thoughtless. To his Puritan mind
this was Satan’s hand manifested.
Le Loup sat on his throne, eyes
wide and staring, hand still half
raised in the careless gesture he was
RED SHADOWS
161
making when frozen into silence by
the unbelievable sight. Songa sat be¬
side him, mouth and eyes wide open,
fingers making curious jerky motions
upon the carved arms of the throne.
Now the corpse was upright, sway¬
ing on stiltlike legs, body tilting far
back until the sightless eyes seemed
to stare straight into the red moon
that was just rising over the black
jungle. The thing tottered uncer¬
tainly in a wide, erratic half-circle,
arms flung out grotesquely as if in
balance, then swaying about to face
the two thrones—and the Black God.
A burning twig at Kane’s feet
cracked like the crash of a cannon
in the tense silence. The horror
thrust forth a black foot—it took a
wavering step—another. Then with
stiff, jerky and automatonlike steps,
legs straddled far apart, the dead
man came toward the two who sat in
speechless horror to each side of the
Black God.
“Ah-h-h!” from somewhere came
the explosive sigh, from that shad¬
owy semicircle where crouched the
terror-fa§cinated worshipers. Straight
on stalked the grim specter. Now it
was within three strides of the
thrones, and Le Loup, faced by fear
for the first time in his bloody life,
cringed back in his chair; while
Songa, with a superhuman effort
breaking the chains of horror that
held him helpless, shattered the night
with a wild scream and, springing
to his feet, lifted a spear, shrieking
and gibbering in wild menace. Then
as the ghastly thing halted not its
frightful advance, he hurled the
spear with all the power of his great,
black muscles, and the spear tore
through the dead man’s breast with
a rending of flesh and bone. Not an
instant halted the thing—for the
dead die not—and Songa the king
stood frozen, arms outstretched as if
to fend off the terror.
An instant they stood so, leaping
firelight and eery moonlight etching
the scene forever in the minds of the
beholders. The changeless staring
eyes of the corpse iooked full into
the bulging eyes of Songa, where
were reflected all the hells of horror.
Then with a jerky motion the arms
of the thing went out and up. The
dead hands fell on Songa’s shoulders.
At the first touch, the king seemed
to shrink and shrivel, and with a
scream that was to haunt the dreams
of every watcher through all the rest
of time, Songa crumpled and fell,
and the dead man reeled stiffly <ind
fell with him. Motionless lay the two
at the feet of the Black God, and to
Kane’s dazed mind it seemed that
the idol’s great, inhuman eyes were
fixed upon them with terrible, still
laughter.
At the instant of the king’s fall, a
great shout went up from the blacks,
and Kane, with a clarity lent his sub¬
conscious mind by the depths of his
hate, looked for Le Loup and saw
him spring from his throne and
vanish in the darkness. Then vision
was blurred by a rush of black
figures who Swept into the space be¬
fore the god. Feet knocked aside
the blazing brands whose heat Kane
had forgotten, and dusky hands
freed him; others loosed the wizard’s
body and laid it upon the earth.
Kane dimly understood that the
blacks believed this thing to be the
work of N’Longa, and that they con¬
nected the vengeance of the wizard
with himself. He bent, laid a hand
on the ju-ju man’s shoulder. No
doubt of it: he was dead, the flesh
was already cold. He glanced at the
other corpses. Songa was dead, too,
and the thing that had slain him lay
now without movement.
Kane started to rise, then halted.
Was he dreaming, or did he really
feel a sudden warmth in the dead
flesh he touched? Mind reeling, he
again bent over the wizard’s body,
and slowly he felt warmness steal
over the limbs and the blood begin
to flow sluggishly through the veins
again.
162
WEIRD TALES
Then N’Longa opened his eyes and
stared up into Kane’s, with the blank
expression of a new-born babe. Kane
watched, flesh crawling, and saw the
knowing, reptilian glitter come back,
saw the wizard’s thick lips part in
a wide grin. N’Longa sat up, and a
strange chant arose from the negroes.
Kane looked about. The blacks
were all kneeling, swaying their
bodies to and fro, and in their shouts
Kane caught the word, “N’Longa!”
repeated over and over in a kind of
fearsomely ecstatic refrain of terror
and worship. As the wizard rose,
they all fell prostrate.
N’Longa nodded, as if in satisfac¬
tion.
“Great ju-ju—great fetish, me!”
he announced to Kane. “You see?
My ghost go out—kill Songa—come
back to me! Great magic! Great
fetish, me!”
Kane glanced at the Black God
looming back in the shadows, at
N ’Longa, who now flung out his arms
toward the idol as if in invocation.
I am everlasting (Kane thought
the Black God said); I drink, no
matter who rules; chiefs, slayers,
wizards, they pass like the ghosts of
dead men through the gray jungle;
I stand, I rale; I am the soul of the
jungle (said the Black God).
Suddenly Kane came back from
the illusory mists in which he had
been wandering. “The white man!
Which way did he flee?”
N’Longa shouted something. A
score of dusky hands pointed; from
somewhere Kane’s rapier was thrust
out to him. The fogs faded and van¬
ished ; again he was the avenger, the
scourge of the unrighteous; with the
sudden volcanic speed of a tiger he
snatched the sword and was gone.
5. The End of the Red Trail
L imbs and vines slapped against
Kane’s face. The oppressive
steam of the tropic night rose like
mist about him. The moon, now float¬
ing high above the jungle, limned
the black shadows in its white glow
and patterned the jungle floor in
grotesque designs. Kane knew not if
the man he sought was ahead of him,
but broken limbs and trampled un¬
derbrush showed that some man had
gone that way, some man who fled
in haste, nor halted to pick his way.
Kane followed these signs unswerv¬
ingly. Believing in the justice of his
vengeance, he did not doubt that the
dim beings who rule men’s destinies
would finally bring him face to face
with Le Loup.
Behind him the drums boomed
and muttered. What a tale they had
to tell this night! of the triumph of
N’Longa, the death of the black
king, the overthrow of the white-
man-with-eyes-like-a-leopard, and a
more darksome tale, a tale to be
whispered in low, muttering vibra¬
tions : the nameless ju-ju.
Was he dreaming? Kane wondered
as he hurried on. Was all this part
of some foul magic? He had seen a
dead man rise and slay and die
again; he had seen a man die and
come to life again. Did N’Longa in
truth send his ghost, his soul, his life
essence forth into the void, dominat¬
ing a corpse to do his will? Aye,
N’Longa died a real death there,
bound to the torture stake, and he
who lay dead on the altar rose and
did as N ’Longa -would have done had
he been free. Then, the unseen force
animating the dead man fading,
N’Longa had lived again.
Yes, Kane thought, he must admit
it as a fact. Somewhere in the dark¬
some reaches of jungle and river,
N’Longa had stumbled upon the
Secret—the Secret of controlling life
and death, of overcoming the
shackles and limitations of the flesh.
How had this dark wisdom, bom in
the black and blood-stained shadows
of this grim land, been given to the
wizard? What sacrifice had been so
pleasing to the Black Gods, what
ritual so monstrous, as to make
RED SHADOWS
163
them give up the knowledge of this
magic ? And what thoughtless, time¬
less journeys had N ’Longa taken,
when he chose to send his ego, his
ghost, through the far, misty coun¬
tries, reached only by death?
There is wisdom in the shadows
(brooded the drum's), wisdom and
magic; go into the darkness for wis¬
dom ; ancient magic shuns the light;
we remember the lost ages (whis¬
pered the drums), ere man became
wise and foolish; we remember the
beast gods—the serpent gods and the
ape gods and the nameless, the Black
Gods, they who drank blood and
whose voices roared through the
shadowy hills, who feasted and lust¬
ed. The secrets of life and of death
are theirs; we remember, we remem¬
ber (sang the drums).
Kane heard them as he hastened
on. The tale they told to the feath¬
ered black warriors farther up the
river, he could not translate; but
they spoke to him in their own way,
and that language was deeper, more
basic.
The moon, high in the dark blue
skies, lighted his way and gave him
a clear vision as he came out at last
into a glade and saw Le Loup stand¬
ing there. The Wolf’s naked blade
was a long gleam of silver in the
moon, and he stood with shoulders
thrown back, the old, defiant smile
still on his face.
“A long trail, Monsieur,” said he.
“It began in the mountains of
France; it ends in an African jungle.
I have wearied of the game at last,
Monsieur —and you die. I had not
fled from the village, even, save that
—I admit it freely—that damnable
witchcraft of N’Longa’s shook my
nerves. More, I saw that the whole
tribe would turn against me.”
Kane advanced warily, 3 wondering
what dim, forgotten tinge of chivalry
in the bandit’s soul had caused him
thus to take his chance in the open.
He half suspected treachery, but his
keen eyes could detect no shadow of
movement in the jungle on either
side of the glade.
“Monsieur, on guard!” Le Loup’s
voice was crisp. “Time that we
ended this fool’s dance about the
world. Here we are alone.”
T he men were now within reach of
each other, and Le Loup, in the
midst of his sentence, suddenly
plunged forward with the speed of
light, thrusting viciously. A slower
man had died there, but Kane
parried and sent his own blade in a
silver streak that slit Le Loup’s tunic
as the Wolf bounded backward. Le
Loup admitted the failure of his
trick with a wild laugh and came in
with the breath-taking speed and
fury of a tiger, his blade making a
white fan of steel about him.
Rapier clashed on rapier as the
two swordsmen fought. They were
fire and ice opposed. Le Loup fought
wildly but craftily, leaving no open¬
ings, taking advantage of every oppor¬
tunity. He was a living flame, bound¬
ing back, leaping in, feinting, thrust¬
ing, warding, striking—laughing like
a wild man, taunting and cursing.
Kane’s skill was cold, calculating,
scintillant. He made no waste move¬
ment, no motion not absolutely neces¬
sary. He seemed to devote more time
and effort toward defense than did
Le Loup, yet there was no hesitancy
in his attack, and when he thrust, his
blade shot out with the speed of a
striking snake.
There was little to choose between
the men as to height, strength and
reach. Le Loup was the swifter by
a scant, flashing margin, but Kane’s
skill reached a finer point of perfec¬
tion. The Wolf’s fencing was fiery,
dynamic, like the blast from a fur¬
nace. Kane was more steady—less
the instinctive, more the thinking
fighter, though he, too, was a born
slayer, with the co-ordination that
only a natural fighter possessed.
Thrust, parry, a feint, a sudden
whirl of blades-
164
WEIRD TALES
“Ha!” the Wolf sent up a shoiht
of ferocious laughter as the blood
started from a cut on Kane’s cheek.
As if the sight drove him to further
fury, he attacked like the beast men
named him. Kane was forced back
before that blood-lusting onslaught,
but the Puritan’s expression did not
alter.
Minutes flew by; the clang and
clash of steel did not diminish. Now
they stood squarely in the center of
the glade, Le Loup untouched, Kane’s
garments red with the blood that
oozed from wounds on cheek, breast,
arm and thigh. The Wolf grinned
savagely and mockingly in the moon¬
light, but he had begun to doubt.
His breath came hissing fast and
his arm began to weary; who was
this man of steel and ice who never
seemed to weaken? Le Loup knew
that the wounds he had inflicted on
Kane were not deep, but even so, the
steady flow of blood should have
sapped some of the man’s strength
and speed by this time. But if Kane
felt the ebb of his powers, it did not
show. His brooding countenance did
not change in expression, and he
pressed the fight with as much cold
fury as at the beginning.
Le Loup felt his might fading, and
with one last desperate effort he
rallied all his fury and strength into
a single plunge. A sudden, unexpect¬
ed attack too wild and swift for the
eye to follow, a dynamic burst of
speed and fury no man could have
withstood, and Solomon Kane reeled
for the first time as he felt cold steel
tear through his body. He reeled
back, and Le Loup, with a wild
shout, plunged after him, his red¬
dened sword free, a gasping taunt
on his lips.
Kane’s sword, backed by the force
of desperation, met Le Loup’s in
midair; met, held and wrenched.
The Wolf’s yell of triumph died on
his lips as his sword flew singing
from his hand.
- For a fleeting instant he stopped
short, arms flung wide as a crucifix,
and Kane heard his wild, mocking
laughter peal forth for the last time,
as the Englishman’s rapier made a
silver line in the moonlight.
F ar away came the mutter of the
drums. Kane mechanically
cleansed his sword on his tattered
garments. The trail ended here, and
Kane was conscious of a strange feel¬
ing of futility. He always felt that,
after he had killed a foe. Somehow
it always seemed that no real good
had been wrought; as if the foe had,
after all, escaped his just vengeance.
With a shrug of his shoulders
Kane turned his attention to his
bodily needs. Now that the heat of
battle had passed, he began to feel
weak and faint from the loss of
blood. That last thrust had been
close; had he not managed to avoid
its full point by a twist of his body,
the blade had transfixed him. As it
was, the sword had struck glancing-
ly, plowed along his ribs and sunk
deep in the muscles beneath the
shoulder-blade, inflicting a long,
shallow wound.
Kane looked about him and saw
that a small stream trickled through
the glade at the far side. Here he
made the only mistake of that kind
that he ever made in his entire life.
Mayhap he was dizzy from loss of
blood and still mazed from the weird
' happenings of the night; be that as
it may, he laid down his rapier and
crossed, weaponless, to the stream.
There he laved his wounds and band¬
aged them as best he could, with
strips torn from his clothing.
Then he rose and was about to re¬
trace his steps when a motion among
the trees on the side of the glade
where he first entered, caught his
eye. A huge figure stepped out of
the jungle, and Kane saw, and recog¬
nized, his doom. The man was Gulka,
the gorilla-slayer. Kane remembered
that he had not seen the black among
(Continued on page 282)
"He was swaying absurdly back and forth,
drinking out of a neckless bottle.”
P ERHAPS you’ve seen Talbot’s
picture in the New York papers
—a lean, leisurely young man
with wilted collar and bow tie, and a
grin reaching from ear to ear. His
Haitian revelations put him on a
journalistic pinnacle where he almost
rubbed shoulders with artists. His
prose was exceedingly jerky and
nervous, but before he had written
three articles the yellow journals
were roaring for his stuff, and the
other papers were making timid
bids.
But he gave me his best yarn
gratis. You remember, or maybe
you don’t, that he kept absurdly
quiet about his imprisonment. He
wasn’t ashamed of it, but he knew
that I would use it in a story and he
didn’t want to spill the beans for me.
You see, I had given him two or
three good cigars and promised him
a week’s lodging, and for some rea¬
son he had taken a fancy to me. He
didn’t have a friend when he arrived
in New York, and he was going back
to Haiti. I argued him out of it, and
now there are seventy thousand
words more of good journalism in the
public libraries.
We sat smoking panetelas in the
men’s compartment at the rear end
of an Overland Express train, and
Talbot told his story in a whimsical¬
ly sonorous voice. I urged him to
start at the beginning, but he smiled
and shrugged eloquently.
“This story has no beginning,” he
said. “I was drunk on the night they
165
166
WEIRD TALES
arrested me. I can’t recall the de¬
tails, but it seems I borrowed a revo¬
lutionist’s uniform and paraded
about the streets in it.
“In Haiti revolutions start in the
mountains and wind up in Cap
Haitien or Port au Prince when the
rebels cool off. Nine-tenths of them
never get into the press dispatches.
On every national holiday the presi¬
dent witnesses the amusing spectacle
of two or three dozen ruffians in yel¬
low sashes shouting each other down
and shooting into store windows.
The president usually ties their
hands by denying them official recog¬
nition.
“But the president refused to ig¬
nore me. I didn’t hurt a soul but I
may have made more noise than the
others. Or I may have walked under
a ladder or broken a mirror. Any¬
how, the president took advantage
of my idiocy, and I was arrested and
put where I couldn’t make a fool of
myself.”
It gave Talbot exquisite pleasure
to contemplate his degradation. A
mischievous smile played about his
lips, and his eager eyes sparkled.
“The jail was a ramshackle and
disgusting affair, and I shared my
cell with two revolutionary generals.
A revolutionary .general in the Black
Republic has absolutely nothing to
commend him. He is a low creature
and his philosophy of life is terrible.
He is a fatalist and he wouldn’t
cross the street to avoid being shot
at. And he is unthinkably dirty.
“My companions never washed.
Their beards were six inches long,
and there was no difference in their
appearance. They were so ridicu¬
lously alike that I frequently got
them mixed up.
“At first I naturally despised
them, and thought only of getting
out. I pounded on the bars, stamped
my feet and shouted until I was red
in the face.
“Never in my life had I been so
angry. When the jailer came I
glared at him, and I could see that
he knew I had something on my
mind and that that something meant
trouble.
“ ‘How long do you think you can
keep an American citizen in jail?’ I
asked.
“The jailer was a small, round-
shouldered man between forty and
fifty, with puckered, evil eyes and
white eyebrows that met above the
arch of his nose. His thick lips
writhed back from his dirty yellow
teeth in a cynical smile.
“ ‘You are such a brown Ameri¬
can!’ he sneered. ‘Who would be¬
lieve that you are merely sunburned ?
You are essentially one of our en¬
emies. The color of your face and
uniform combine to make you a rebel. ’
“I forgot that bars separated us.
I reached for his throat, but he
jumped back and grinned. In my
disappointment I nearly bit my
tongue through without feeling it.
‘You’re too vile to kill,’ I raved,
‘but if I could get my hands on your
superiors-’
“The jailer assured me that my
wish could not be granted. ‘My
superiors are very busy men,’ he
said. ‘But I do not blame you for
getting angry. It isn’t pleasant to
be shot at. But we are obliged to
obey orders, and the president hates
rebels.’
“He departed, grotesquely sneer¬
ing.
‘ ‘ T sat on the edge of my cot and
-*■ rolled a cigarette with white,
nervous fingers. I was horribly up¬
set. One of the generals grunted
and swore that the jailer was a pig.
He expressed no other emotion, but
he added a few words of advice in a
curiously colorless voice.
“ ‘Look in the soles of your shoes,’
he suggested. ‘I wouldn’t want to
see you crying and begging for
mercy. It would make the president
too indecently happy. ’
YOU CAN’T KILL A GHOST
167
“I looked up, and for an instant
he smiled into my astonished eyes.
Then he moved slowly to the other
side of the wall. ‘Sometimes you
don’t find the metal,’ his companion
volunteered. ‘But if you are wear¬
ing a regulation army shoe you are
in luck.’
“I wanted very much to believe
them. I looked down at my shoes.
They were not army shoes, hut I
didn’t let that discourage me. I
wanted to pay the jailer out for his
insults. I laughed when I thought
how angry and disappointed he
would be to find the bars sawed
through and the bird flown. The
American bird! I was thinking:
‘Now he’ll laugh on the other side of
his face. Did he really' think that
he could keep an American in his
filthy old jail?’
“The generals watched me with
tolerant and cynical eyes. They
winked at each other and ran their
fingers through their brittle black
beards. But I knew that there was
no use bothering about them. I held
the key to my own salvation and it
was up to me to make good.
“A sense of something like exul¬
tation stole over me. I unlaced my
shoes and examined them. There
were unquestionably pieces of metal
in the soles. I was ready to shout. I
worked at the stiff leather, tearing
it apart with my fingers and teeth,
until the blood pounded in my ears
and I very nearly keeled over.
“ ‘ It’s better than being shot, ’ one
of the generals said, but I scarcely
heard him. When I got the metal
out I did a voodoo dance on the cell
floor.
“One of the generals scowled. It
was perfectly apparent that he
didn’t like my enthusiasm. He stood
there endeavoring to be civil, but
there was an expression in his small
blue eyes that told me clearer than
words how he despised that sort of
thing. I brought myself up with a
jerk.
“ ‘I didn’t intend to go on so,’ I
explained. ‘But this thing means a
lot to me. I’m only twenty-two and
it isn’t pleasant to be taken out and
shot. Leastwise, it’s not pleasant to
be shot by mistake. I wouldn’t mind
ordinarily-’
‘ ‘ I saw that I had taken the wrong
tack. The general’s scowl grew in
volume. ‘You shouldn’t anticipate,
my friend,’ he said. ‘You have first
to saw through the bars, and there’s
a guard stationed outside.’
“I saw then what I had let myself
in for. My spirits dropped. It
would take at least two days to saw
.the bars through, and I didn’t see
how I could conceal my progress
from the jailer. I was in a tight
place and said so. I’ll never forget
the decent way in which the general
met my objection.
“ ‘You mustn’t eat your bread,’
he said. ‘Rub it on the floor when
the pig isn’t looking and use it on
the bars. ’
“But after that he got pretty
silent, and I couldn’t persuade him
to escape with me. ‘It is very easy
to die when ten men shoot at you at
the same time, ’ he said, and his com¬
panion added that life was a very
stupid affair.
“Naturally their logic repelled me,
but what could I do? I didn’t like
the idea of leaving them there to
shoulder the blame, but it was no
good arguing with them. When a
Haitian’s mind is made up it is made
up. I told them to think of their
wives, but when they swore at me I
gave it up.
“The jailer seemed to suspect
something when he brought the
bread, but I didn’t give him half a
chance to talk to the generals. I
hung on to the bars and insulted him
until I was blue in the face. He put
the bread on the floor and looked in¬
quiringly at the generals. I think
that he was amused and a little
frightened.
168
WEIED TALES
“As soon as he left I seized my
portion of bread and rubbed it on
the floor until it was blacker than
the president’s beard. Then I knead¬
ed it between my fingers. The gen¬
erals watched me indifferently and
I knew that they grimly appreciated
the silent comedy of an American
endeavoring to escape from a Haitian
pig-sty. I made a violent effort to
control myself, and went to work on
the bars without so much as a groan
to let them know what I was suffer¬
ing. My heart kept coming up in my
throat and flopping over. I couldn’t
forget the risk I was running, and I
began to fear I’d funk the job sure.
“There were five bars, and the
window was two feet broad and
eighteen inches high. It would be
necessary to work against time, but
I figured it wouldn’t take me more
than two days to get out. I’d for¬
gotten that a man has to eat and
sleep. Sawing through bars is the
hardest kind of work and no man
can stand it more than eight hours
on a stretch.
“I worked steadily for six hours,
and all the time the generals were
snickering and comparing notes be¬
hind my back. However, I tried to
keep thinking of what I would say to
the consul when I got out. I didn’t
even stop to drink. My right arm
got so devilishly stiff that it almost
killed me to move it. But I wasn’t
going to weaken before those gen¬
erals.
“At the end of nine hours I got
dizzy and weak. I had a small
pocket mirror, and when I looked at
myself I found I was yellow under
the gills. The water was running in
streams down my face and I had
sense enough left to quit, after
smearing the bars with the sooty
bread to conceal what I had done. I
had filed completely through one of
the bars! But before I’d had time
to congratulate myself I found my¬
self on the floor in a heap, and my
brain getting cloudy.
“Twelve hours later one of the gen¬
erals kicked me awake and told me
that I’d nearly spoiled my chances.
“The jailer hadn’t been able to
discover anything, but my exhaus¬
tion had puzzled him. He had poked
into corners and questioned the gen¬
erals, and he had come near to trying
the bars. I had a queer, dizzy feel¬
ing in my head, but I had no inten¬
tion of taking a day off.
“I set to work on the bars again,
and by the end of the day I had
sawed through the second one. My
fingers were bleeding and my brain
reeled, and the generals didn’t say
anything to encourage me. But I
felt that my luck wasn’t bad under
the circumstances, and maybe I
wasn’t happy when I thought of how
I would fool the jailer!
“By sundown the next day I had
completed the job. The generals
stared and shrugged their shoulders
and urged me to escape immediately.
I rolled a cigarette and puffed it un¬
til I had made a halo of blue-gray
smoke about my head. I felt like a
hero, standing there before those in¬
different fools. ‘I’ll get out when
it’s dark,’ I said, ‘and not before.
I’m not taking unnecessary chances.’
“A couple of hours later I crawled
to the bars and waited for the moon
to get behind a cloud. The generals
started laughing and I thought sure
they’d give the game away. I was
hopelessly upset, but it was no good
being angry with them.
“npHE bars came out easier than
A children’s first teeth. I simply
stood up and pulled and there was
an opening large enough to admit
two men. In a moment I was half¬
way through the opening and wish¬
ing that I’d been more civil to the
generals.
“But I might have known there
would be a hitch somewhere. My
coat got caught on a nail and I
stuck. I wriggled and wriggled, but
I couldn’t get my legs over.
YOU CAN T KILL A GHOST
169
“I lay wedged between the bars,
and things began to look pretty
black. At any moment I might be
discovered by the jailer, and the gen¬
erals wouldn’t be any help to me.
And then I did a foolish thing. I
struggled until something snapped
and a sudden pain gripped my right
leg. I groaned aloud, and to make
matters worse the moon came out
and flooded the clearing with light.
“And then I saw him. He was
standing against the wall, swaying
absurdly back and forth and drink¬
ing out of a neckless bottle. At first
he did not notice me, but when his
eyes finally rested on my agonized
face he removed his great hat and
bowed.
“ ‘Another newspaper man, I pre¬
sume,’ he said. ‘Our little revolution
certainly makes copy. But personal¬
ly, I don’t think we’re worth it. This
is strictly between you and me, you
understand. ’
“ ‘Do I look like a newspaper
man?’ I snapped. I was in no humor
to discuss trivialities with him. I
could see that he was absurdly drunk,
but it did not occur to me that I
might find him useful.
“ ‘Permit me to introduce myself,’
he continued. ‘ I am the president’s
right-hand man—some call me his
shadow. He couldn’t get along with¬
out me. We have too much in com¬
mon. And yet I am but a pale re¬
flection of his greatness. I am called
Henriquez, but to you, who are an
American, it shall be Henry. I
should not even object to Harry. It
seems that we are endeavoring to
escape from prison. I can sympa¬
thize with the gesture. All human
beings desire liberty. I myself have
longed for liberty. They would not
even permit me to drink the rich, red
wine; it was necessary that I set the
army a good example. But I fooled
them. Today I am as free as the air
and I have no responsibilities. I
have escaped from my prison. Shall
I help you to escape from yours?’
“ ‘Why should you?’ I roared.
‘Why don’t you call the guards and
have them put me back again?’
“He smiled good-humoredly. ‘That
would be such a waste of time!’ he
said. ‘ And besides, the guard might
shoot you. I shouldn’t care to see
you shot. Is it not strange how I
differ from the president? The presi¬
dent hates rebels—and yet I am his
shadow. But you seem to be having
some trouble with those bars.’
“He suddenly became serious, and
stepping quickly forward he looked
me straight in the eyes. ‘Do you
really wish to escape?’ he said.
“I nodded and groaned. ‘With
every drop of blood in my body,’ I
said, ‘I wish to escape. They have
promised to shoot me. I am only
twenty-two, and at my age it is not
pleasant to be shot. ’
“He nodded sympathetically. ‘I
think I can help you, ’ he said. ‘ I do
not wish to make any promises, but
I think I can help.’
“He stepped forward and seized
one of the remaining bars in his hairy
hand. I saw the muscles of his enor¬
mous arms contract, and a hard, set
expression come into his face. Merely
to loosen the bar took a tremendous
effort, and for a moment I did not
think that he could possibly succeed.
But slowly the bar gave way and
then he literally tore it from its
fastenings.
“A sudden sense of unspeakable
joy possessed me. I hurled myself
forward and nearly succeeded in
wriggling free; but I could not quite
pass my hips through. Henriquez
was not discouraged. He beamed
encouragement, and set himself the
task of loosening the last bar. He
succeeded in tearing the coat from
my back, but the bar stuck.
“He backed away, still smiling.
He seemed bracing himself for a ti¬
tanic effort. He advanced again and
took the last bar firmly between his
two hands. He pulled and pulled.
170
WEIRD TALES
The bar gave way and bent outward;
then it came away with a loud retch¬
ing sound that I feared would bring
the jailer on a run. I struggled
through the window and collapsed in
Henriquez’s arms. I could not stand.
I was bleeding from a dozen wounds,
and I had evidently sprained my
hips, for when I moved it gave me
exquisite pain.
“ ‘I can’t walk, Henry,’ I said.
‘What shall I do?’
“ ‘Have no fear, my lad,’ re¬
sponded Henriquez. ‘I have carried
heavier than you. There is an
American ship in the bay and if we
hurry I can put you on board before
dawn. What do you say?’
‘ ‘ I nodded a silent approval.
Henriquez laughed and lifted me on
his huge shoulders. He made as if
he would - pick up the discarded
bottle, but then he wavered and
kicked it aside with the toe of his
boot. ‘ The president would have
been very angry,’ he chuckled.
“■\X7ith rapid steps he left the
^ ’ courtyard- and proceeded cau¬
tiously along a white road. No doubt
he found me heavy, for he stopped
from time to time to mop his brow
with his coat-sleeve. ‘The president,’
he kept muttering, ‘would never have
understood. ’
“ ‘Stop there!’ A blue-coated
sentry stood on a muddy embank¬
ment and challenged Henriquez with
leveled gun. Henriquez stood very
still in the center of the road and
whistled. ‘Don’t you know me?’ he
vociferated. ‘I’m on official busi¬
ness. Let me pass. ’
“The sentry scowled. ‘What have
you got on your back ? ’ he asked.
“I heard Henriquez curse under
his breath. ‘Mind your own business,
my friend,’ he said, ‘and let me pass.
It is evident that you do not who I
am!’
“ ‘You are a traitor to the presi¬
dent,’ said the sentry. ‘You carry
upon your back the rebel traitor who
calls himself an American.’
“Henriquez suddenly crouched in
the road. I felt his body grow taut
beneath me. The muscles of his great
arms tightened. He hissed through
his teeth.
“Cautiously he advanced a few
paces toward the embankment.
‘Stop!’ ordered the sentry. But
Henriquez did not stop. He dropped
me like a leaden weight and sprang
forward.
“I rolled into a muddy ditch and
lay still. My whole body was one
great wound. My teeth were knock¬
ing together like billiard balls. I
heard a brief gasp, and then a tor¬
rent of frightened words issued from
beneath the embankment. ‘ I thought
you were a man! For heaven’s sake
pity me! I didn’t know—I didn’t,
so help me God! Please don’t! I
beg you on my knees to pity me! ’
“There followed the sounds of a
scuffle, terminating in a prolonged
scream: ‘Ah-h-h-h!’
“Another moment and Henriquez
was picking me up. ‘It’s all right
now, lad,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry I had
to drop you, but it was the only
way! ’
“We passed through gray, desert¬
ed orchards and along horribly
muddy roads. Once a shot rang out
behind us. A tremor passed over my
friend’s huge form and he whistled
through his teeth.
“ ‘Another guard!’ he muttered.
‘The president was unduly cautious.
But I can not blame him. He sus¬
pects all rebels, and there are so
many attacks upon his life.’
“Henriquez was breathing so heav¬
ily that I urged him to rest, but he
only grunted and plunged doggedly
forward.
“I can assure you that we were
welcome on board the American ship.
We were toasted and treated like
kings, but it took some time to dis-
(Continued on page 281 )
RILUIReCRflG -I
W HEN Donald Chester was in¬
vited to accompany his new
friend, Count Zolani, on a
hunting-trip, he was surprized. Count
Zolani had showed sufficient prefer¬
ence for Donald’s company—more
than Donald had been able, in the
bottom of his heart, to feel for Zo¬
lani. He wouldn’t have been sur¬
prized in the least at a week-end in¬
vitation on a house-party, even a
yachting-party. But Count Zolani
and the simple life—an unattended
camp for two in one of the near-by
lonely places of the world—that was
the unexpected feature of the affair.
“We’ll camp at a place I found
on a solitary expedition,’’ the count
had said. And that added to the
strangeness of things. Count Zolani.
who moved surrounded by satellites,
attended always by at least one good
serving-man pre-eminently not of the
type to be converted at a moment’s
notice into a wilderness guide, to
have been in the habit of making
lonely trips away from civilization
and its amusements and luxuries!
Until the actual moment of start¬
ing, Donald had half expected that
all this was only Zolani’s way of
talking about his trips, and that af¬
ter all the two of them would be
attended by a retinue of servants.
172
•WEIRD TALES
But when they set forth together in
a gray dawn in midsummer—which
meant that they started very early
indeed—he was obliged to admit to
himself that here was a Zolani with
whom he was unacquainted. The
languid grace, the touch of boredom,
the weary sophistication—all had
fallen from the count. In the begin¬
ning of this new day he was as keen¬
ly eager as any great explorer might
have been before plunging into an
unmapped continental interior. One
might have imagined that the two
men were on the verge of an adven¬
ture, instead of merely being about
to camp alone for a few days in a
spot on the Maryland sea-coast—a
spot unfrequented, but not far at all
from the beaten paths of travel.
Through the long, hot day his en¬
thusiasm did not flag. Donald re¬
lieved him at the wheel for a few
hours, at his own suggestion, know¬
ing that Zolani was not at all weary,
and believing that he would have
been capable of making a non-stop
drive of days and nights on end, so
long as that quiet look of intensity
brooded on his aquiline features.
Toward sunset, they were well down
into the “eastern shore” country.
The macadam road stretched fair
and even, with few turns and no
hills, between primeval bits of forest
and empty meadows. The world
might have been asleep while it still
was light, so deep was the sense of
peacefulness that brooded over it.
Only when the road was tinged with
red and the shadows of the pines
were blue-black across it, the count
turned his low-slung roadster from
the highway and headed eastward
over an unmade road.
“I take it we’re in reach of the
end,” Donald volunteered. Words
had been few between the two men,
all through the long day of hot high
speed. The car, of necessity, went
slowly now for the first time in many
hours.
“In reach of the end,” Zolani
smiled, with a sudden flash of teeth
beneath his well-kept tiny black
mustaches. “I wonder—I wonder
what you will think of the end,
when you see—and when you
know!”
Donald was not altogether sur¬
prized at the turn of his compan¬
ion’s sentence. It implied that there
was about this journey something
that lay beneath the surface. That,
however, was not altogether a new
thought to Donald.
“I’m expecting to see something
—and maybe to know something
too,” he said carelessly enough.
“I’ll be glad to get to it, Zolani. I
never thought you insisted on drag¬
ging me down here for nothing except
the beauties of nature!”
For a moment, Zolani’s flashing
smile was turned on him again.
Then the count’s attention was taken
by the nature of the road, which had
degenerated rather suddenly after
the last crossroad into a rough, rutty
pair of wheel tracks with grass grow¬
ing between them. From that point,
also, the road became winding; at
the next crossroad and at the next,
Zolani turned to right and left.
Turns came frequently during the
next hour, while the red of sunset
faded to the ashes of twilight and
plunged into the blue gloom of dusk.
The thought crossed Donald’s mind
that Zolani knew this lonely terri¬
tory well, well enough to have been
here not once, but many times, and
that his frequent turnings were in
the nature of detours, which brought
him back always to a direction he
might have adhered to more closely
but for a desire to make the way of
his going intricate and labyrinthine.
“Is it possible he’s trying to lose
me?” Donald wondered idly, once,
and blushed at the fantastic nature
of the thought.
“We’re here, and soon the moon
will rise and I shall show you—Vul¬
ture Crag!”
VULTURE CRAG
173
Zolani’s words sounded like a
shout of triumph, so silent was the
night around them as the ear went
slowly with motor all but inaudible.
* 1 Vulture Crag! Cheerful name! ’ ’
Donald commented.
“I named it, but not without good
reason,” the count rejoined. “I like
the name. The truth is, Chester, I’m
planning to make some improve¬
ments in this part of the country;
but I’m not planning to make it a
popular summer resort. Not even to
attract picnic parties from the coun¬
tryside near by.”
I nto the stillness of the summer
evening a new sound had crept—
a rhythmic, murmuring sound which
Donald at first had hardly been con¬
scious of. Now it was louder, near¬
er. The road had become sandy and
heavy. It seemed almost to shake
itself, so sudden was the next turn—
and Donald uttered a cry of pleasure.
He loved the sea, and they had come
upon it. so suddenly that its far, dark
mystery was like an unexpected ad¬
venture. Through a break in crags
they saw it, across a miniature sandy
desert where rolling dunes rose to¬
ward the distant horizon. Upon that
unbroken sky line blazed a tiny
speck where a ship moved, and
above, the sky was sown with stars.
“Ecstasy, to stand upon the shore
of the trackless sea!” Count Zol¬
ani’s voice showed more feeling than
Donald had ever heard in it.
* 1 Ecstasy! In imagination one
breaks the bonds that hold him to
the shore and follows his outward
gaze. Think, friend! In all the
universe, I think there is possible one
greater ecstasy of contemplation.
What, then, is that ? ’ ’
Donald gazed into his companion’s
face, half visible in the deepening
gloom. Was he idly philosophizing,
playing with an abstract fancy, or
was he challenging Donald to answer
a riddle which had to do with this
odd trip of theirs? Donald made a
sudden gesture of impatience.
“I’ve come along because you
asked me to, Zolani, and I’ve gone
blind for quite a while. I know
there’s something beneath the sur¬
face, something I hope you’re going
to explain, and something I hope will
give motive to our journey—not that
it needs one to be pl#sant, but be¬
cause I feel there is one. So I won’t
do any guessing at meanings; I’ll
just tell you I’m waiting, and get¬
ting more than a little anxious to
find out what it’s all about. The
ecstasy of contemplation doesn’t
sound like an adventure; yet, some¬
how, you make me feel as though
we’re on the edge of an adventure!”
Zolani stopped the motor and
leaned back in his seat, lighting a
cigarette with provoking delibera¬
tion.
“The greatest ecstasy of contem¬
plation!” he resumed slowly. “To
stand, my friend, on the shore of the
sea—on the shore of the world! To
gaze outward across the boundless
ocean—outward into more boundless
space! To know that one can voy¬
age afar upon that sea—can voyage
farther, farther—farther than the
farthest stars your feeble vision can
detect, in the limitless sea of space.
You, Chester, if you will, shall know
the delirious thrill of traversing
space. I promise it. Is that adven¬
ture enough for you?”
There was silence between the two
men. Count Zolani’s cigarette made
a near-by circle of light which out¬
shone some of those distant specks of
light which were, perhaps, larger
than the sun around which the earth
and her sister planets revolved.
Donald was caught in an odd feeling
of futility. Not for a moment did he
think Zolani mad, although he won¬
dered why he did not. He felt only
that space was a thing apart, a thing
that did not concern mankind; he
felt that his spirit had been called
174
WEIRD TALES
upon to grasp a thing beyond its
conception. He could have read of
such a thing between the covers of a
book, and felt his imagination
kindle; but personally to him like
this, the very stupendousness of the
idea stunned his perceptions.
The count’s profile, visible in the
starlight, gave a tinge of reality to
the impossible statement he had
made. It was not the profile of a
dreamer’s face. In it there was
power. There might be in it, also,
evil; but no touch of vagueness, of
futility. Looking at it, Donald
forced himself to clear thought. If
he was to take Zolani’s words liter¬
ally, and since he could not for a
moment think of Zolani as the vic¬
tim of a hallucination, he was up
against a tremendous opportunity—
a new thing. Later, he would realize
it; even now he might at least try
to understand it. There were the
tales of Jules Verne—the Trip to the
Moon —Edgar Allan Poe’s faneiful
trip, and others. . . .
“I suppose you’re going to per¬
fect an invention down here, and I
suppose you’re going to tell me
you’ve solved the problem of making
a space-ship—that will fly! ” he said
at last. “I can’t grasp it at once;
but everyone knows that the fancies
of yesterday are the facts of tomor¬
row. So another tomorrow has
come!”
Zolani turned to face him. The
glow from his cigarette lit up his
aquiline features, which seemed more
clearly lit by his triumphant smile.
“Proud as Lucifer!” Donald
found himself thinking. “And Luci¬
fer fell through pride. But Zolani
has reason enough to be the proudest
man on earth, if he’s solved the thing
few men have dared dream of at¬
tempting ! ”
“Chester, my friend,” Zolani be¬
gan, “my invention is to be perfect¬
ed here, but it’s not an old dream
of another man made real by myself;
it is my own dream, my own thought,
perhaps, if there is any new thought
under the sun. It is-”
At that instant a flapping of great
wings swept away the sound of his
words, and a dark, ugly form blotted
out the starlight and swooped low
toward the side of the open car.
Donald caught a glare as of red eyes
in the darkness and smelled an evil
smell—and then the thing was gone.
“One of the vultures—my
friends!” Zolani said, with a little,
twisted smile. ‘ * Look yonder! ’ ’
Donald, gazing seaward, had no¬
ticed but little the sides of the ravine
through which they had approached.
The structure was unusual for the
eastern coast so far south as this. A
low crag to the south made the end
of the ravine on one side, a high crag
to the north; and for the first time
Donald saw that a house stood on
this northern crag, built against the
natural elevation of the land so that
in the darkness it was easily over¬
looked. It seemed, however, to be
a large house—an abandoned man¬
sion. Some recluse had fancied a
home in this lonely spot, and had
tired of the unchanging solitude.
Everything about the place spoke of
utter desolation. And—final touch*
and most sinister—as the two men
gazed, several dark forms detached
themselves from the block of unlit
darkness which was the deserted
building, and circled against the sky,
while odd, raucous, creaking cries
were borne on the sweet sea breeze.
“More of our friends!” Zolani
spoke again. ‘ ‘ That old house is
their roosting-place. Odd fancies,
vultures have, to take to artificial
shelter of four walls and a roof. The
windows, mostly broken, give them
easy access, however; and you and I,
my friend, will camp in the open.
And not too much in the open either;
our tent shall have the flaps well
drawn together. A man need hardly
be dead, but only sleeping, to have
his eyes plucked from his head by
our scavenger friends, whose inde-
VULTURE CRAG
175
fatigable zeal makes them so valu¬
able that the state sets a fine of fifty
dollars on the killing of one of them.
Well! I shall explain no more of
my grand plan until tomorrow. I
can see that you need time for ad¬
justment; tomorrow in the light of
day what I say to you will be real;
if I told you all tonight, tomorrow
it would appear as a dream and re¬
quire retelling.
“Only let me say that I am to rob
our vultures of their happy home—
I intend to make use of that building.
I hope, friend Chester, for your in¬
terest—and for the loan of a little
of your superabundant wealth. A
short loan; with the working of my
scheme, gold will flow freely to our
hands. And for the rest, and to keep
the curious of the countryside from
showing too much interest in our af¬
fairs, I depend on our friends the
vultures, who make this portion of
the coast very disagreeable by their
presence, and who will not go far
from the home of which I dispossess
them.”
T o the end of his life, Donald
Chester would remember the
year 1928 as the most vivid of
his whole manhood; at least it
eclipsed utterly all the years and all
the seasons which had preceded it.
It was only a few days after the
memorable night when he beheld for
the first time Vulture Crag, and the
equally memorable morning of shin¬
ing blue and silver when he listened
to Count Zolani’s recital of his plans
and intentions, before he was back
again in the city arranging a loan of
several thousand dollars, which
would put Zolani’s scheme in the way
of - fruition. That scheme burned
day and night in Donald’s brain,
with its wonderful train of adven¬
tures. Donald would make possible
the realization of man’s loftiest
dream; he would be a pioneer in ex¬
ploring the mystery of the universe;
he would know the unknowable,
grasp the unattainable, help Zolani to
add a new and most lustrous wreath
of laurel to the ever more glorious
wreath of man’s victories and
achievements.
Then, on the top of adventure’s
highest pinnacle of rapture—and
now it was all as real and close at
hand as on that first evening beside
the sea all had been tenuous and un¬
real—he met Dorothy Leigh.
Dorothy—“Gift of God!” Never
was any living creature so well
named. There were stars in the
depths of her blue-black eyes, stars
which beckoned as those stars in the
night sky toward which Donald
never failed now to lift eager eyes
in anticipation of the nearing time of
his flight of exploration toward them.
But there were other things about
Dorothy, so dear that they might
well nigh hold a man to the earth.
There were her little, clinging hands,
that seemed eloquent when they
caressed merely the leaves of a book
or touched the steering-gear of Don¬
ald’s car; there were all her
graceful, little, unstudied ways, her
fragile beauty of form and feature,
and the gay daring of her sudden
laughter.
Donald had only begun to hope
that he, too, by some mysterious
magic, was beginning to live in Dor¬
othy’s heart, when he found himself
telling her about the great secret.
And in the telling, there was an in¬
terruption; and by the interruption
many things were made clear.
“Oh, Donald—my dear!” Dor¬
othy had cried, the pain in her voice
a heritage from time immemorial,
since the first woman watched her
man go forth to adventure hand in
hand with death. “My dear, must it
be you—among the first?”
For a while after that, Donald did
not give the details which had been
locked in his heart for months.
Neither the world nor the universe
mattered beside Dorothy’s “My
176
WEIRD TALES
dear.” But when a little later Don¬
ald remembered, his spirit was more
than ever unshaken. If he had been
able to dare the horror of utter
emptiness through which stars and
planets hurtle on their courses, how
much better able was he to dare
them, now that he held Dorothy’s
love locked safe within his breast, a
charm against all evil?
“You won’t ask me to give up my
adventure when you know how much
it means to me,” he said gently to
Dorothy. “When a man loves as I
love you, he wants, more than ever,
to prove his manhood. But after all,
my darling, this adventure, while
thrilling enough, has hardly enough
of peril about it to prove that. In
fact, when I have explained it to you
as the count explained it to me on a
June morning, you’ll laugh at your
fears.”
He went on, then, to paint her the
picture of Count Zolani’s great proj¬
ect in the colors in which he himself
saw it.
“You’re familiar with simple
chemistry, Dorothy,” he began.
“Well! Take one of the very
simplest experiments of all—the con¬
version of water into its two
elements, hydrogen and oxygen. Is
there any doubt that hydrogen and
oxygen can be brought together to
form water?”
Dorothy shook her head, deeply
puzzled. What a simple chemical
experiment had to do with the ex¬
treme safety of the launching of a
ship in space, she could not imagine.
Nevertheless, because she was rather
given to quiet thought than to dis¬
jointed protest, she listened after
that without a word until the end of
Donald’s rather long explanation.
“Suppose, now, that the hydrogen
and oxygen so separated and re¬
leased could be given a certain rate
of atomic vibration—you’ve heard of
that, too. So that, wherever they
might wander in the whole universe,
they would retain a separate entity
from any other atoms of hydrogen
and oxygen. And now—I’m mixing
my metaphors because it is neces¬
sary, because as the different laws of
nature are always interactive, so to
explain any complicated phenom¬
enon of nature whether naturally or
artificially—which still, of course, is
naturally—produced, it is necessary
to describe the various actions of the
different laws involved in whatever
way makes them most easily com¬
prehended.
“To continue where I broke off to
apologize. Suppose, now, that the
hydrogen atoms to which you give a
certain atomic vibration were to be
magnetized with a certain definite
magnetism, as definite as the positive
and negative magnetism which
everybody knows, but infinitely
diversified—as diversified, in fact, as
the infinite differences of wave
length which can be established in a
radio station, so that the etheric
vibrations to which that station is
attuned will be received there, out of
all the other vibrations that permeate
space.
“I’m afraid this is all rather deep,
and quite involved, but Zolani gave
it to me in far more intricate and
technical terms, and I’m doing what
I can to translate. In brief, Dorothy,
Zolani’s achievement lies rather
within the field of physical chem¬
istry than in the field of mechanics.
He isn’t going to launch me, with
other favored souls, through space in
a ship the mechanism of which might
go wrong. > He is, instead, through a
triumph o’f chemistry and physics
which involves plain chemistry,
atomic vibration and magnetism all
three, to change the nature of my be¬
ing, and of the others, so that we,
loosed from the chains of gravity
and physical necessity, can travel at
our own free will through space, to
be drawn back quite definitely and
certainly by means of his apparatus
to our own bodies.”
VULTURE CRAG
177
Dorothy had grown paler as she
listened to the end of Donald’s
speech. A low cry of horror issued
from her lips, at last.
“I didn’t understand what you
were talking about, Donald. And
now that I see the application of it,
it still seems vague, and horrible.
Do you mean that you are going to
put yourself in the hands of that
man, to be altered in the inmost
fibers of your being?—Oh!”
She shuddered, and the words died
away on her lips. Donald shrugged
Ms shoulders in mock despair.
“Darling, I’ve been telling you
how very safe it is, and this is the
impression you’ve drawn from all
I’ve been saying!” he protested.
“Well! It serves me right for un¬
loading that scientific stuff on a girl
who only dabbled in the shallowest
ripples of science a finishing-school
ever taught. I haven’t given up
making you see and understand,
however. I’ll tackle it next, Dorothy,
from the descriptive angle. Sup-
ppse-”
Donald was off again, talking
eagerly, urgently. And this time, as
he talked, Dorothy was better able to
understand the picture his words
painted.
r ~W olani, he told her, had taken the
lonely house at Vulture Crag
(he touched lightly on the subject of
those vultures, and the desolation of
the spot). In the basement, Zolani
had set up a powerful apparatus,
while the top of the house, renovated
and repaired, had been made into a
sort of hospital. In that hospital,
carefully guarded, were to repose the
bodies of the space-travelers, while
their intelligences and certain vital
elements temporarily translated out
of those bodies roved freely through
space. Out of that exploration
would vanish the black night of ig¬
norance; to future generations the
ways and customs of the oddest
denizens of the farthest stars, were
any of them indeed populated, would
be as freely studied as were now the
habits of people living on the other
side of the world.
The powerful apparatus which
Zolani had set up in his basement
laboratory would react upon men
and women harmlessly. Upon each,
space-traveler it would be set dif¬
ferently in certain small degrees, so
that the liberated spirit might have
a “vibration number” of its own.
Twenty space-travelers could be
taken care of at the same time,
and twenty levers corresponded to
twenty storage batteries—Donald
described them so. At least, they
stored the current which would
draw back, when the levers were
shot backward in their slots, the
various twenty wandering spirits.
The unconscious physical forms of
the twenty, properly attached to the
apparatus, would then receive the
spirits, souls, intelligences—Donald
rather stammered in his search of
words, since no words previously
coined exactly described what actu¬
ally took place; “the released
entity” suited him better than the
triter forms, but he sought for a
terminology which would make the
things he spoke of more real to
Dorothy.
“Since the portion of the man or
woman who has been exploring space
comprises only the intelligence, plus
a certain amount of vital energy—
all the vital energy not required to
keep the body which remains behind
from actual death,” he added, “the
space traveler can not have been
harmed. You see there is nothing to
hurt. Since Zolani’s apparatus is
minutely tuned, as I must express it,
to each individuality, that indi¬
viduality must be attracted back to
its earthly habitation, so soon as he
sets in action the powerful magnetic
current which ‘receives it.’
“I don’t mean to become technical
again. But this, you see, is What
really happens. On October first, I,
178
WEIRD TALES
and nineteen others, will find our¬
selves with Count Zolani at his re¬
stored mansion beside the sea. In
the building comfortable arrange¬
ments are made, so that a person
might comfortably sleep and rest for
—two weeks was the period he spoke
of. You may picture, Dorothy, the
safe orderliness of a hospital ward,
if you like. Well, there our bodies
will sleep, after we have spent a
quiet hour in the laboratory below,
and had an agreeable current passed
through our bodies, like a mild, in¬
vigorating electric current, or so
Zolani describes it.
“Say that the two weeks are up.
Attendants will carry our sleeping
forms back to the laboratory, and
each man and woman will be at¬
tached to the storage battery which
has the power to call him, or her,
back to life. A slight effort of will
will be required on the part of the
wandering spirit to re-enter the body
itself, but that will present no com¬
plications; should any one of us de¬
sire, for some strange, unknown,
unpredictable reason, to remain free
in space, it is understood that we
Will make our return there at a fu¬
ture time. Zolani has picked only
honorable men and women for his
great experiment—men and women
who will not be subject to freaks of
fancy which might embarrass him
and thwart the purpose of the ex¬
periment. As for myself, beloved,
returning to earth will mean return¬
ing to you; my effort of will, then,
will hardly be an effort at all, since
my soul will speed to you—would
speed to you even if the forces of
Zolani’s magnetism were directed
not for but against it.”
Love had won where arguments
might all have failed. Looking into
the depths of Dorothy’s eyes, Don¬
ald knew that there was to be no
strife between them. And in the
weeks that followed, love even dis¬
placed in his mind the thrill of an¬
ticipation that had filled his days
and nights, together with his
thoughts of Dorothy. Now that he
knew Dorothy returned his love,
everything in the world beside that
magnificent fact seemed dwarfed
and of no consequence. And as for
Dorothy, he suspected that she al¬
most forgot the ordeal the autumn
would bring. Having spent herself
in combat to no avail and yielded
gracefully—although, thinking back,
Donald was not sure that either com¬
bat or yielding had taken place in
words—she was now feeling the un¬
real dreaminess about the affair
which had possessed Donald in the
beginning. Perhaps she believed
that, after all, Zolani would be de¬
feated ; that the first of October
would find him ready to give up his
fantastic scheme. Perhaps she only
felt that life and love and the world
on which the sun shone were real,
and that the vast emptiness which
encircled these things was not, and
could not actually become so, to her¬
self or to Donald or to anyone.
r T'*HE summer had come in on rose-
flung wings of anticipation; it
came to its height of beauty on a
high-pitched ecstasy that seemed,
perhaps, too beautiful to last. The
perfection of summer, the full sweet¬
ness of love, have about them some¬
thing of the evanescent shimmer of
the wings of a dragon-fly, which is a
thing of beauty doomed to live full
and vibrantly, but never long. Sum¬
mer had, then, to die, and its passing
was sorrowful, wind-torn and rain-
weary. Toward the end of Septem¬
ber heavy rains set in, but they were
not as dismal as the slow falling of
inward tears which takes the place
of the tears a man may not shed.
It had been inevitable that Doro¬
thy should meet Zolani, with whom
Donald had associated in a social
way before the two men became
identified with the same venture.
The meeting had taken place on a
hotel roof garden, and the stars Don-
VULTURE CRAG
179
aid had all but worshiped through
the summer in his eagerness to ex¬
plore them seemed to be watching
in a shining surprize, as Dorothy
gave to Zolani the deep, sweet look
Donald had never seen her give to
anyone but him.
After that, Dorothy had seen Don¬
ald often, but not so often‘as before,
although their engagement was not
broken. She had, however, seen Zo¬
lani at least as often, while he was
in town; and, what was worst of all,
Donald knew that he was not wrong
when he felt that Dorothy’s deepest
interest hung upon Zolani’s slightest
word. Never a word was spoken now
of her concern for Donald in the
coming adventure; and while Donald
did not want Dorothy to be dis¬
tressed, it cut him cruelly to know
that the reason for her ceasing to
worry was, simply, that she had
ceased to care. Donald’s journey
among distant stars and planets? It
had become more real to Dorothy
since her meeting with Zolani, and
since certain long talks which she
had had with him alone. Donald
knew that, but he knew, too, that she
wasted no alarms now. Let the first
of October come; it brought no
slightest uneasiness with it, so far as
Donald could see. He himself was
not uneasy, but he knew that Doro¬
thy, in the natural course of events,
should now be deeply worried.
And the last week of September
brought in the delayed equinoctial
storm, and the weeping skies opened
their fountains yet unemptied, and
the winds tore the sodden, clinging
leaves from the trees. And on the
last day of the month; Donald drove
four men over the road that led to
Zolani’s restored mansion, followed
by two other cars, each carrying five.
Zolani had driven down the day be¬
fore. Not since the evening before
that day had Donald seen Dorothy;
she had suggested then that she wish
him luck, and say good-bye—thus
hastening needlessly the time of
their parting.
T~\usk on this thirtieth of Septem-
U ber was dull and heavy, and
fell early. It was dark night, and .the
rain-wet wind from the sea howled
like seven demons, when the party
under Donald’s convoy reached Vul¬
ture Crag. Even in the blackness,
Donald had a consciousness of black
wings upborne on the raging wind.
He was glad to step inside the square
lighted hallway of the building
Count Zolani had restored, and con¬
scious of a sense of hurrying drama
as he stood waiting there with his four
companions. It was as though a long-
awaited hour at last had struck.
The count came to them after a
short delay.
“I shall take our newcomers with
me into the laboratory,” he smiled
with the flash of white teeth Donald
had come to dislike, since he had so
often seen its glitter turned upon
Dorothy. “For you, Chester my
friend, I have a great surprize. Wait
here. Ah! ”
The door through which the count
had entered swung slowly open
again. Donald, following his gaze,
saw the last face he would have ex¬
pected to behold here, of any in the
world which he, perhaps, might be
leaving forever, in spite of the con¬
fidence he had felt stedfastly for
months. It was the face of Dorothy.
The count bowed low, his eyes on
the deep blue ones turned to him.
His voice when he spoke again was
a caress.
“My dear, you had better explain
to our friend Chester, who does not
understand.”
Once more the white teeth flashed.
The count was bowing the four men
who were to join in his experiment
through another doorway. A mo¬
ment more, and they were alone—
Donald and Dorothy, with the sound
of Zolani’s “My dear” ringing in
180
WEIRD TALES
Donald’s ears. So Dorothy had first
revealed her love for Donald—in just
those two words. But Zolani must
have had full confidence that his love
was returned, to use those words to
Dorothy in the presence of others; in
the presence of Donald, whose en¬
gagement to Dorothy had not been
definitely broken.
It was Dorothy who broke the
silence.
“You see, Chester—Zolani consid¬
ers that we are engaged,” she offered
timidly.
And then Donald’s wrath broke
the bounds that had held it.
“As I have still considered that
you and I-” he began.
Looking back later, he could not
remember all that he said then to
Dorothy, though he never forgot the
stricken look in her eyes as she lis¬
tened. At last she held up her hand
with a gesture which stopped him.
“Donald, I thought I could go
through with it, but I can’t,” she
said with a little moan. “I had
steeled myself to endure your hurt.
But I find that I can’t. To let you
believe that lam honest with Zolani
—that would have been safer for
both of us, dear. Since I can’t, I
will explain. There is no time to
lose.”
A little flame of hope springing up
in Donald’s heart seemed to change
the universe from a barren waste
back to the old paradise, as Dorothy
continued.
“Donald, I was determined to share
in this experiment. To go with you—
wherever you go—to become as you be¬
come—not to be parted from you,
whatever may be your destiny. I knew
there was no hope of persuading you
to let me go. I knew, too, that, so
long as Zolani was your friend and
I nothing to Zolani, he would prob¬
ably accede to your wishes if the
matter were put up to him. So—I
let him fall in love with me, Donald.
Perhaps I made him. Certainly, I
willed him to. I’m sorry, but it was
the only way to accomplish the thing
I was determined to accomplish—
that I should not be parted from
you. When this is over, when we are
safely back on earth in the bodies
our spirits inhabit, I shall explain to
Zolani. I hope he will forgive me.
Surely, he can understand the feel¬
ing that drove me to make him
serve my purpose.
“At least, that was the way I have
felt about it until lately. Of late, I
have come to doubt his forgiveness,
and to feel that I can do without it.
Because, Donald, I do not trust Zo¬
lani. I have come to feel that he is
evil; and if he knew, or dreamed, or
guessed that my love is unalterably
yours-”
She was leaning toward him now.
In the brilliantly lit entrance hall,
Donald could see deeply into her
blue-black eyes, could mark every
shade of expression in their tender
depths. Never had she been more
adorable than with the expression of
anxiety softening them, as she thought
of Zolani with regret and foreboding.
With a sudden motion, Donald drew
her into his arms, where he had
thought never to hold her again.
Their lips met-
* ‘ Zolani! ’ ’
Donald cried the name out like a
challenge, as the count’s dark, hawk¬
like face appeared suddenly in the
doorway. There was again the flash
of the count’s white teeth—Donald
had come to dread that ordinary
phenomenon.
“I smile—because a man must be
as you would say, a good sport!”
Zolani said in light, but slightly
strained tones. “So a love is not so
easily changed, and my promised
bride is still your promised bride—
and her wandering heart returns to
its allegiance, as her wandering spirit
will return at my command to the
lovely form which enshrines it.
Well! Perhaps, friend Chester, her
heart never wandered at all. Never
has she looked at me as she looked
VULTURE CRAG
181
at you, and she has withheld her
Ups. Perhaps it was all a game—to
make me consent to experiment upon
so lovely a victim, so that she could
accompany you on your flight
through space.”
There was a heavy silence in the
little room, except for the beating of
the wind outside—could the beating
of wings be heard as well? Donald
and Dorothy had given one startled
glance, each at the other. Had Zolani
heard everything, or had he guessed?
Now they stood silently, with eyes
downcast. Dorothy, Donald knew,
was both frightened and ashamed.
As for himself, he was conscious of
a heavy depression which he could
not analyze.
After a little, Zolani spoke again.
“Perhaps it will be as well to
speak no more of this unhappy af¬
fair—unhappy for me, however for¬
tunate for my friend. Although I
have smiled, my heart is breaking.
Now, however, I am ready to forget
myself, and to show to my two most
honored guests what I have done,
and what will take place tomorrow.
It is my suggestion that you, Chester,
and Miss Leigh, behold with me the
beginning of my experiment upon
the others. After that, it will be the
turn of you two. And, in the mean¬
time, I shall give myself the honor of
showing you over the place—my
dormuary.”
“Dormuary?”
Dorothy’s lips parted as Donald
repeated the word. It had an ugly
sound. Donald was sure that it had
put both of them in mind of the same
other word, “mortuary,” which it
greatly resembled. The count smiled
back at them serenely.
“Don’t like the sound of it? Think
it sounds like ‘mortuary’?” he said
coolly. “I created it from that word,
of course. Pardon me if my humor
is a little grim, but a man who works
his brain as hard as I work mine
requires the relief of humor, and his
humor should suit his fancy. My
fancies have always, I am afraid,
been a little grim. You see, this place
I have equipped is a reposing-place
for the sleeping, as a mortuary is for
the dead. I put away the sleeping,
as I shall show you, to remain asleep
for the period I shall choose, as a
mortician puts away the dead, to be
dead forever. I, then, am a dormi-
cian. But I must show you these
sleeping-places.”
D uring the hour that followed,
Dorothy clung close to Donald’s
arm. It was a rather horrible hour.
Zolani had prepared his house to
accommodate more than twenty,
although he was not completely
equipped as to laboratory apparatus
to handle more than twenty now.
Donald had spoken of the upper re¬
gions of this building as a sort of
hospital; they did, in fact, much
more resemble the corridors of a
morgue.
There were no beds, in the ordi¬
nary sense of the word, to accommo¬
date the tenantless, sleeping bodies.
It was well, perhaps, that the others
who had already retired had not
been shown over the place at all, and
were to see only the laboratory.
Donald marveled at the calmness
with which they accepted their ig¬
norance, until he remembered that
they were spending this night crowd¬
ed together in several large, comfort¬
able bedrooms containing various
beds and couches, and that they
probably pictured these very rooms
as their abiding-place for Zolani’s
period of two weeks, during which
only their bodies were to remain on
earth. As a matter of fact, instead
of beds and rooms, the sleepers were
to occupy lockers very much like the
lockers of a well-equipped morgue,
except that comfortable mattresses
had been installed.
Gruesome, indeed, were the rows
of empty, yawning lockers. Grue¬
some, and suggestive of either a
morgue or a mausoleum. Certainly,
182
WEIRD TALES
Zolani in his efficiency had had no
regard for esthetics.
“They’re safer in lockers, yon
know!” Zolani answered Donald’s
thought with his usual uncanny in¬
tuition. “A lever in the laboratory
controls all the doors of these lockers
at once. Ordinarily, I don’t think it
will he necessary to have them
closed. But in case of any accident
or disturbance, I should close them
immediately. Should there be even
so much as a broken window, I
should close the lockers, for other¬
wise the dispossessed vultures, re¬
turning, might make a meal-
“I beg your pardon!” Zolani
broke off abruptly, his eyes on Doro¬
thy’s face, who looked as though she
might be about to faint. “I forget,
where we are all daring adventurers,
that one of us is yet a delicate girl
who should be shielded from too
much of the gruesome. But let me
continue, taking care not to offend
again.”
With a long forefinger, he pointed
within the nearest white-enameled
locker.
“My device for pumping air
through all the lockers, should it be
necessary to close the doors, ’ ’ he ex¬
plained. “You see, although these
sleeping bodies will hardly seem to
breathe, yet breathe they will a little,
and must.”
The pipe he had designated had
openings through whidh the air
would pass. Another pipe beside it,
however, had none.
Donald questioned him as to the
use of this pipe. “It looks like-”
He broke off as Zolani had done a
moment before, mindful of Dorothy.
“It is. You see, I thought some
day I might wish to use this place
for the other thing which it resem¬
bles. My scheme is safe enough, but
it might break down. The govern¬
ment might object to my sending its
citizens so far abroad without pass¬
ports—anything might happen. Then
I had a scheme for using the
refrigeration plant”—Zolani ap¬
proached his mouth to Chester’s ear
—“making a sure enough morgue of
the joint, you see, and keeping people
here preserved by cold without em¬
balmment for a while, while I tried
to resuscitate them. No, I’m not the
wizard of the ages; I can’t restore
life, and I have no hope of doing
that. But I could pull in some money
while making the attempt.”
Before Donald’s horrified stare,
the count showed some slight un¬
easiness.
“Well, perhaps I’m letting you
see and know too much. But you
needn’t assume an air of superior
virtue. Most people resort to various
methods of gaining their ends. Per¬
haps if you knew everything I have
in mind at this moment, you would
be even more shocked. Your fiancee
tricked me quite thoroughly and
well. And you know many men in
your own world who have founded
fortunes by putting something over
on the right person at the right time,
or even cheating thousands out of
their just dues. No! I wouldn’t pre¬
sume to look down on me, if I were
you. Life is short—too short for in¬
dulgence in snobbery.”
They had returned at last to the
outer hall, and Zolani pressed an
electric button.
“Show the gentleman and the lady
to their respective rooms. They have
a hard day ahead tomorrow,” the
count said to a herculean colored
man who appeared.
They passed the door of Dorothy’s
room before they reached the one
which was Donald’s. Talking togeth¬
er, Dorothy and Donald did not ad¬
dress the giant serving-man. It was
only at the door of his own room
that Donald discovered that the
negro could hear but not speak. He
pointed to his mouth in explanation
and Donald, looking, saw that his
tongue was shriveled almost to the
root.
VULTURE CRAG
183
“Ashe fell asleep, the sight of that
shriveled tongue was with him like
a nightmare horror.
“Born like that? Maybe. But
Zolani wouldn’t have to cut a tongue
out. He’d know a way—some chemi¬
cal, some devilish compound—that
would produce an effect like that
without being telltale.” That was
his last conscious thought.
r 7 oijANi had selected the hour of
dawn for his great experiment.
Seeing the group of men who report¬
ed at that zero hour in the little
waiting-room off his basement lab¬
oratory, Donald marveled. ' Bank
presidents, statesmen, college pro¬
fessors—these were among others at
whose identity Donald could only
guess. Truly, this affair was to
make Zolani famous immediately,
and rich almost as soon. There
could be no claiming that a fraud
had been practised upon one or two
insignificant or unbalanced dupes.
Zolani had assured Donald that he
had set free and recalled the spirits
of one or two individuals who “did
not greatly matter.” Perhaps the
servitor with the withered tongue
was one of these. At any rate, the
count was marvelously sure of him¬
self.
In spite of himself, Donald sick¬
ened as he watched this experiment
proceed—so far as one could watch
a thing, the salient feature of which
was invisible. He saw eighteen men
lie back in comfortable reclining-
chairs and suffer Zolani to hook them
up by means of wires to a great,
humming dynamo in the center of
the room; so far, it was unpleasantly
like the preparation for an electro¬
cution. There were dials which
Zolani watched, delicate manipula¬
tions which he performed. Over the
top of the dynamo was a great flask
in which a watery bubbling liquid
alternately clouded and cleared. Be¬
fore each man was a smaller globe
which seemed to duplicate the reac¬
tion of the large one; and, as Donald
observed that the men leaning back
in their chairs appeared one by one
to drowse and doze, he observed the
liquid in each man’s respective globe
change color from white to rose. A
little later a white flame appeared to
shine within the center of the fluid,
which was now brilliant in color and
quite clear, and no longer bubbling
at all; and as this phenomenon ap¬
peared, each man drew a long sigh
and appeared to sink into deep
slumber. Donald, watching the
nearest man—the one who was presi¬
dent of one of the large eastern uni¬
versities—observed an expression of
peace upon his face, which seemed a
moment later to grow sharp of fea¬
ture and livid of complexion, so that
Donald felt as though he were
indeed gazing upon a corpse. He
would have cried out, then, and
called upon Zolani, perhaps, to bring
the hovering spirit back to the habi¬
tation in which God had placed it
for the span of an earthly lifetime;
but in that moment the light dis¬
appeared from the rose-colored,
liquid-filled globe, as though it had
been snuffed out, and the liquid it¬
self suffered a change, becoming
leaden gray, with an over-tinge of
green. This, for some reason, was
more horrible to Donald than all the
other features of the transformation:
it spoke so clearly of the withdraw¬
ing of life to a far distant place.
Even the carting away of the limp
figures one by one, in the arms of
Zolani’s withered-tongued assistant,
to be stored in their respective lock¬
er spaees like so many carcasses, was
no worse than that sickly changing
of the bright-colored liquid in the
glass.
Donald turned to Zolani now, pre¬
pared to fight out a thing upon
which he had determined.
“Miss Leigh can’t be allowed to
take part in this, however safe, how¬
ever sure, ” he said firmly. “Women
were never meant to pioneer among
184
WEIRD TALES
new dangers and new horrors. They
are to be cherished, safeguarded.
You have loved Miss Leigh; perhaps
you still love her. I love her, too,
and, since I am to be her husband, I
must protect her. I have no doubt
that you will agree with me—that
you will forbid at the last minute
that to which you have already con¬
sented.”
Zolani’s smile cut whitely across
his dark face like a menace.
“My friend, you are too late!” he
cried softly. Beckoning Donald, he
led him to a near-by doorway and
bade him look through it. Incredu¬
lous, Donald saw the deeply slum¬
bering form of Dorothy Leigh
stretched upon a couch in the room
beyond.
“This is the chair in which she re¬
clined, and this the glass globe
filled with the essence into which her
spirit was withdrawn, before it took
its farther flight in space.”
As Donald looked upon these
things, his heart sank sickly, while
the pounding of his pulse was like
the beating of a drum. Oh, he had
believed in the safety of Zolani’s ex¬
periment!—but then he had trusted
Zolani. What had Dorothy said?
“I have come to feel that he is evil.”
Donald, too, had come to feel that
the count was evil.
“You will want to follow her
swiftly,” the count was continuing.
“See, you may have this last place—
the one next Dorothy Leigh’s. You
will wish to hasten?”
Donald was about to follow the
count’s instructions. What instinct
he had indeed prompted him to share
as rapidly as possible Dorothy’s fate.
He should follow her out into the
great unknown, even though he did
not trust Zolani, because it was the
only thing he knew which he could
do.
And then a little thing occurred.
Donald was possessed of keen
powers of observation. Now, just be¬
fore he seated himself in the reclin¬
ing-chair, he noticed a tiny green
bulb, apparently an ordinary electric
light, which burned upon the base¬
board that supported the individual
smallish globes of liquid. This light
was burning beside none of the other
globes—only beside his own. Donald
was sure that during the experiment
which had been completed on the oth¬
ers—completed in its first stage, at
least—this light had not been lit.
And now, stooping suddenly, he was
able to read the letters of an abbrevi¬
ated word, small and almost invisible
on the black baseboard underneath
the green light: “Refrig.”
He started back, more than half
expecting to be instantly engaged in
a fight for his life. The doors of the
room were closed—probably locked.
There was no escape, and besides, the
helpless, sleeping, deathlike form of
Dorothy Leigh lay in the adjoining
room, dependent upon Count Zo¬
lani’s whim if it were to be restored
ever to life and consciousness. To
challenge Zolani would do little good,
but perhaps it was as well to have all
of the cards on the table.
“Zolani!” Donald cried as these
thoughts coursed through his brain.
“I’ll stay in my own body, please;
and I’ll see that you take good care
of that helpless girl in there. I’m not
blind, nor a fool.”
He pointed to the green light with
its all but invisible labeling.
“You had the refrigeration cur¬
rent turned on for me —only for me,
Zolani,” he continued. “You would
have locked me into my locker and
let me freeze—killed my body while
my soul was absent, so that I could
never come back to claim Dorothy—
to protect her!”
For several minutes, the two men
stared into each other’s eyes. At last
Zolani shrugged his shoulders,
though now his white-toothed smile
was absent.
“Well, it is true you are not the
fool I thought you!” he said, slowly.
“So, while you may perhaps surmise
VULTURE CRAG
185
that your future is a brief one, you
may as well see a little drama which
will deeply interest you. Dorothy
Leigh sleeps only for a brief interval
—only for the space of one hour.
Already that hour is near its end.
And I shall let you see the restora¬
tion. One warning, first.
“It is not my will that you leave
this place alive. So much you have
already divined. But since I choose
to let you take with you the bitter
memory of that which you are to be¬
hold, remember this: only 1 can re¬
store the absent soul of Dorothy
Leigh. And, whatever you see me do,
if you interrupt me it shall not be
restored. It shall wander, homeless
and friendless in outer space, until
the normal time of the termination
of her life upon this earth—a period
of some fifty years, no doubt. If you
interrupt me, you will have con¬
demned her whom you love to the
most horrible exile the mind of man
can imagine. Do you agree—do you
swear —to hold your hand, not to
interrupt me under any circum¬
stancesf”
Donald took the oath which Zo-
lani commanded. He watched then,
while Zolani brought the deathlike
body of Dorothy Leigh and laid it in
the reclining-chair which awaited it.
The horrible apparatus which had
reminded him of the electric connec¬
tions essential to a death chair was
put in correct arrangement. Zolani
showed him the irreversible switch
marked “time,” which he had set for
one hour, and which in a few min¬
utes would have its period of opera¬
tion fulfilled. He showed him the
other switch which was to be operat¬
ed by the throwing of a lever—and
when this switch was thrown in, the
returning spirit of Dorothy would
appear as a bright flame in the glass
globe. Then, and then only, the ele¬
ment of will-power entered into con¬
sideration: Dorothy must will her¬
self back from the rosy fluid into her
waiting body.
“No trouble there—she’ll come to
me! She’ll come to me!” Donald
thought, trying to forget that soon
after her coming she would in all
probability find herself mourning
Donald’s death by murder at the
hands of Zolani or his dumb assist¬
ant.
Tt seemed a long time, but was
probably in reality only minutes,
before the leaden-colored liquid began
to quiver and change within its
glass walls. Donald’s heart leaped
high; then suddenly a soft bright¬
ness like the glow of a sunrise made
the globe beautiful, and in another
instant a pure flame like the fire of
a star bathed in dawnlight appeared
—the soul of Dorothy Leigh im¬
prisoned in the globe, needing only
an effort of her pure will to re-enter
the waiting body, which now seemed
to stir a little and to breathe visibly.
“Dorothy!” Donald’s soul was on
his lips. But Zolani suddenly stooped
over the girl, reminding Donald of
the swooping flight of one of the vul¬
tures whose home this desolate place
had been. His arms encircled the
plastic waist of the girl, his lips were
laid upon her fluttering lips. Donald
cried out again, this time in horror.
For a moment only, Zolani turned to
him.
“She makes her choice!” he cried
triumphantly. “Either her exiled
spirit refuses to re-enter her body,
and is condemned to the horrible fate
I have described—or she comes back,
not only to herself, but—to me—to
my arms, my lips! My spirit strives
with hers. If Dorothy Leigh is now
restored to life, never can her spirit
shake off mine—never can she be
free of me, or free to love any but
her master! Fool! I could almost let
you live, in your harmlessness—al¬
most!”
In the next moments, Donald
lived an eternity of anguish. What
fate to pray for, for the girl he loved,
he did not know. Horrible, that long
186
WEIRD TALES
disembodied exile—horrible beyond
words! But equally horrible, the
slavery Zolani hinted at—the slavery
which would begin by forcing Doro¬
thy, who loathed Zolani, to return
to consciousness in his arms, never
again to be far from them or free of
him.
Once more, Zolani’s embrace
clasped the girl more closely. Once
more his avid lips sought hers. And
suddenly, a splintering crash, which
was again and again repeated, broke
the spell which seemed to hold them
all immovable. Zolani sprang to his
feet, a pale horror on his counte¬
nance :
“In spite of all precautions, I am
discovered!” he cried. “In spite of
my silencing all those who have
helped, in spite of all—surely, men
are battering in the windows of the
house upstairs—the windows of my
dormuary-”
Undecided, he looked at the body
of Dorothy Leigh. But to Donald,
nothing but Dorothy mattered—
nothing else in the world. For him
there was no fatal moment of vacil¬
lation. Even as Zolani spoke, he had
rushed to her, drawn her into his
arms, kissed her warming lips—and
felt the ecstasy of their return kiss.
He turned, then, to Zolani. Before
either man could speak, another
crash and clatter made the building
shake, and he could hear the scream¬
ing of voices through the thick walls,
and the screaming of other things—
could they be the angry souls of the
eighteen sleepers who had been mys¬
teriously attacked and could not re¬
turn to their dwelling-places?
“One of my men must have gotten
away—and managed to communicate
with the nearest town, which is only
ten miles from here!” Zolani hissed.
“You know what the ignorant mob
mind is capable of—fanatics and
fools! They have heard a tale of my
putting men to sleep and incarcerat¬
ing their bodies in my dormuary
above. They have made of it a tale
of wholesale murder, and come to
wreak revenge. Explain to them,
convince them ? It would be hard to
do as much to a body of savants,
unprepared for my stupendous dis¬
coveries—impossible to a herd of
yokels. No! One thing there is that
terrifies me, as some men are stricken
out of themselves with horror by
great heights, or fire, or water. The
thing that makes me less than a man
with fear, is—a mob! Once I suf¬
fered at the hands of a mob-”
He covered his face with his shak¬
ing hands. Then, leaping forward,
Donald strove to tear those hands
from the count’s face, seeing that in
the palm of one was held a small
vial full of a black fluid, which, even
as Donald stared in horror, disap¬
peared down the throat of the count.
Zolani dropped his hands, then, and
stared blankly at Donald, with a
horrid, empty smile. His body, Don¬
ald knew, was tenantless, before it
crumpled slowly to the floor, and to
it there would be no returning of the
banished spirit, for the very lips were
blackened and burned with the
poison which had brought instant
and strangely painless death.
An overpowering impulse seized
then upon Donald—an impulse to
catch up Dorothy in his arms and
make his escape with her—to get her
away from this room of death, and
away from the confusion and rioting
which he could hear from above
stairs and from without. Zolani had
been right—there were shouts of men
mingled with sounds of violence, and
again that other shrieking which
seemed to touch Donald’s heart with
a strange horror. He turned hastily
to Dorothy now, but made no move
to touch her; before he had the right
to take her away, there was work to
be done. To his relief, her eyes were
open, and she smiled.
“Don’t be afraid, my darling—I
will be back at once,” he reassured
(Continued on page 285)
FOREWORD
HE tottering old man with
long white hair and red-
rimmed eyes, who hut a few
years ago was a familiar figure in the
streets of the South Side, the German
quarter of St. Louis, bequeathed me
the following history as he lay sick
with a fever. He insisted that it was
his death-bed confession and it turned
out that he was right, for the disease
took an unexpected turn for the worse
and finished him. He told me what
he had never confided to anyone else,
that he had fled from Stuttgart where
he had a shop of his own (he tvas a
wood-carver, did altars and things
for churches), left his business and a
girl whom he cared for, because he
was in terror of arrest and decapita¬
tion on account of the murder.
Doubtless the truth of it is that his
head had been turned by too much
brooding over some philosophy of re¬
incarnation, and I dare say the gar¬
goyles and other medieval grotesques
of which he was such an eager stu¬
dent and copyist added their share to
his weird imaginings.
In going over the manuscript, I
have retained the rather formal dic¬
tion which marks its German author¬
ship, rather than risk losing the
atmosphere of the narrative by recast¬
ing it:
I N the little city of Tuebingen, re¬
nowned for its university, stands
the old church of St. George, which
187
188
WEIRD TALES
is less interesting for any purely
architectural beauties, though it is
no mean example of the Gothic style,
than for its many curious and bi¬
zarre stone carvings, among them the
splendid monuments of the early
rulers of Wuertemberg, Duke Ulrich,
Eberhard the Bearded and other
mighty wielders of the two-handed
sword, who lie in the choir, full-
armored, stark and rigid with
watchful, wide-open eyes.
It was late in the afternoon when
I entered the church, dusty and
warm as I was from the parched
highway, for, knapsack a-shoulder, I
had walked from Stuttgart that day;
—yes, I could foot it with the best in
my wander years and still be fresh
for sightseeing at the journey’s end.
Strangely enough for a Protestant
church, it was not close-locked, and a
small door admitted me into the
dusky choir. An old woman with a
dust-brush was shuffling among the
pews in an obscure corner, but I was
in no mood to be led from one sight
to another by a garrulous guide
eager for a fee, so I moved noiseless¬
ly among the tombstones and me¬
morial tablets, admiring those quaint
art works of a more simple, more
pious and far more artistic age.
The high windows on the north
side interested me particularly be¬
cause of an idea in ornament that I
had not seen elsewhere. In their
pointed arches was Gothic carving,
of course, but it was not the varia¬
tion of the trefoil and quatrefoil
such as the medieval sculptors de¬
lighted to elaborate, but figures of
saints skilfully graven with decora¬
tive effect so that they filled with
credit the place of more conventional
designs. The stained glass was fitted
around their contours so that they
stood silhouetted in a many-colored
halo.
The figures, as I remember them,
represented the Blessed Virgin,
Saint Martin dividing his cloak with
the beggar, and Saint George slaying
the dragon. I had been told of an¬
other, a rose window, said to repre¬
sent the martyrdom of the knightly
George, but I did not find it at once
for there was much else to attract
the eye of a journeyman wood-
carver; for instance the grim aspect
of those old bishops sculptured on
the choir benches, who scowled de¬
fiance at their arch-enemy, Dr.
Luther, a jovial, smiling face carved
on the organ loft. I remember-also
a sinister device on one of the many
tombstones against the wall. In the
dim light this appeared at first to be
the common design of a helmet sur¬
mounting a blazoned shield and bear¬
ing a winged crest, but looking
closer I saw that the helmet was a
polished skull through whose eye-
sockets a serpent writhed, the crest
a flying hour-glass, and the coat of
arms that of the most unchivalrous,
relentless and invincible of warriors,
Time.
I know not how many hours had
elapsed in studying and sketching
such details when the heat and quiet
rendered me drowsy and I stretched
out at length in a pew of the north¬
ern aisle. The hum from the market¬
place without, like the droning of
flies on the pane, lulled me to sleep.
It was an eldritch dream, a con¬
fusion of menacing sounds of dark¬
ness and of blood. I have a recollec¬
tion, too, of seeing the church, but
it was as a building uncompleted; on
its eastern front yawned a great
black hole where a round window was
to be built in the wall. Strangest of
all was that, while everything was
changed, it should be so familiar.
Many instances I can not remem¬
ber connectedly, but there remains
a vivid impression of some enemy
who had from the beginning of
things haunted me, as dream enemies
do, and blighted my every hope; the
fortune I was to inherit he had a
later but a better claim to, for I was
THE ROSE WINDOW
189
merely the foster-child after he, the
true son, was bom; the maiden I de¬
sired, loved him because he was a
goodly youth and fairer to look upon
than L
To learn the goldsmith’s trade he
went away, far away, and when
years had passed without tidings, I
believed him lost or, better still,
dead, and I dared to hope that the
yellow gold and the other priceless-
treasure which would have gone to
him might yet be mine.
I was walking in the fields not far
from the city (so my dream con¬
tinued). It was evening; in the
tavern garden near the crossroads
sat two young men, drinking. I had
been indulging my vain hopes when
I saw the pair. “My God I he has
returned!” I exclaimed, and I
swiftly resolved: “He must not
reach home!”
I found a secret place to hide
among the bushes where the roads
parted, one to Tuebingen, one to my
native City, Reutlingen.
Tt was late twilight when he passed
like a shadow in the gloom, but
light enough for me to drive the
knife deep into his back, light
enough for me to drag him under the
trees with averted face, and then, ah,
far too still and far too dark for me
to stay and bury the dead alone in
those somber aisles.
Fearful and exultant I fled home¬
ward, but by a circuitous route,
sought my foster-father’s fireside—
and found there the man I had tried
to murder! Yes, there he sat, rosy
with the wine he was drinking, a
table spread with delicacies before
him.-
My brain was benumbed by this
unaccountable horror. Had I lost
my reason? Was the whole ghastly
affair in the woods—the treacherous
blow, the blood on my hands—all the
work of witchcraft? I shuddered.
Then, like a serpent, the cold, slimy
suspicion crept into my mind that I
had struck down a stranger in the
dark woods. I had dealt a death
blow, foul and profitless, to an un¬
offending man. God knew who he
might be.
Certain it was that my foster-
brother, whom I hated and had
sought to destroy, was there before
my eyes, boasting and laughing
about his travel adventures, flushed
with meat and drink. His parents,
overjoyed at his return, were filling
his cup and plate afresh, meanwhile
plying him with questions till he
could scarcely find time to eat. And
the girl whom I loved sat close be¬
side him caressing his hand, her eyes
full of adoration.
I must have swooned at the sight
(if one can swoon in a dream), for it
seemed days before his happy par¬
ents told me of how he had returned,
and how they had almost fainted
with joy at the sight of their son.
But their joy was presently turned
to apprehension, for a charge of mur¬
der was laid against him.
Things moved swiftly to a tragic
climax. The city of Tuebingen sent
an armed deputation to seize his per¬
son and hold him for trial. One of
their citizens, a young man returning
from his travels in Italy, had been
found at the cross-roads slain with a
stab in the back. My foster-brother
was accused by the landlord of the
near-by tavern. “They had been
traveling together,” said he, “for
they drank brotherhood and fare¬
well after the manner of young
journeymen until long after sunset;
then the victim went his way; after
an interval the murderer followed,
and the rest had no witness but the
eye of God.”
When I heard that, I knew that I
had done murder in vain.
Horrible it was, that dream of my
treachery, of how when the city of
Reutlingen refused to deliver up her
son, it was I who plotted and
190
WEIRD TALES
planned with the spies of Tuebingen.
Enough, it was my hand that un¬
bolted my foster-father’s door at
midnight; it was I who led the
stealthily treading soldiers to his
bed-chamber; it was I who helped
bind and gag him, all in the interest
of justice, so I explained to the men
of Tuebingen. A wagon loaded with
hay stood in our street not too far
from the door. In that we concealed
him.
In the morning he had dis-
peared, no one in the city knew
whither. The wagon loaded with
hay had also gone from our street.
We could only guess at the mys¬
tery of his fate. None knew it, until
the day when it was made a public
spectacle. On that day I stood
among the crowd in the marketplace
of Tuebingen; above our heads
loomed a black structure of beams
and planks; the “poor sinner’s bell”
wailed incessantly in my ears and I
saw—from the horror of that sight
I started, awoke from the dream in
which I had dreamed this ghastly
crime and found myself lying
cramped and chilled in the church of
Tuebingen where I had fallen asleep.
But as my eyes opened they fell upon
the uncanny Thing of which I had
dreamed.
It hung, black in a circle of pallid
light, high on the stone church wall.
How can I describe it? Its outline
was somewhat like that of an enor¬
mous spider, from whose shapeless
body as a center reached eight hor¬
rible radii to the circumference. It
was, I could discern, the semblance
of a human form, broken and
tangled in the spokes of a huge wheel
of torture.
Like a row of tall specters in the
darkness of the church loomed the
pale Gothic windows of the choir,
but through the rose window poured
baleful light as from a waning moon
and cast upon my face the mottled
shadow of the Thing. In bewilder¬
ment and terror, I struggled to rise,
but my body lay quite rigid, nor
could I so much as turn my head, try
though I would. I felt as if I were
drowning in a black and silent sea.
The straining and creaking of
ropes over the wheels in the tower
told me that the bell was about to
strike. Thank God, I could be as¬
sured of one tangible fact! To know
the hour were a plank on this vague
sea of darkness and uncertainty.
The first quarter chimed; how it
dragged! Deliberately the second
blow fell; would it never be done ?
The third stroke echoed sullenly
through the vault; its vibrations
rang on and on into infinity. What
hour of the night it was, now three-
fourths spent, I knew not.
I waited for the echoes to cease,
but my ears were sharpened to every
gradation of silence, as my eyes
were sensitive to the shades of black
about me, and I listened, as it seemed,
for hours, to the quivering of the
bell like deep and distant music of
a great organ, as it became fainter
and more intangible until at last I
perceived it only with some latent
sense.
To have broken this tremulous
silence with a cry for help would
have tortured my spanned nerves. I
shuddered at the mere thought of it.
With my gaze fixed upon the lumin¬
ous orb that glared into the void like
an evil eye, silent I lay for what
seemed years and years of agonizing
suspense, and listened.
I listened, and out of the unquiet
stillness grew a rustling like that of
leaves withered on the branch, as
they complain in the wintry gusts;
and out of the rustling grew a whis¬
pering as from a thousand parched
throats, inarticulate, intermittent,
now hoarse, now shrill, like the
voices of conscience or of memory,
attuned only to my ear that strained
at first to hear, then heard but too
well and too soon understood.
THE ROSE WINDOW
191
But why should this voice sound
like one I had known for a lifetime?
Why, though it was as familiar as my
own utterance, did I strive in vain to
associate it with some person, time
or place?
It was from this voice that I heard
the ending of the story in my dream.
T he body, broken on the wheel,
hung in the marketplace until
the sun had shriveled it to a mummy.
The men of Reutlingen soon heard of
this outrage of secret trial and judg¬
ment, and I was one of the armed
band which sallied forth and, al¬
though beaten back from the walls
of Tuebingen, left a breach in the
fortifications that we took care
should not be mended.
Then upon a cloud-laden night
(and I remember now that it was a
year from the night when I had lain
in wait at the cross-roads), seven
sons of Reutlingen stole through that
ill-guarded opening and cautiously
passed through dark alleys to the
marketplace and there, while four of
us kept watch, the other three dis¬
entangled the dried and broken
limbs from the spokes and huddled
them into a sack, and together we
fled through the unlighted streets,
through the broken wall, through the
dark woods, like a flock of fright¬
ened shadows.
It. was the fool’s cunning of fear
that had made me join them. Who
would have suspected me of deliver¬
ing my foster-brother over to his
enemies even had I not been the most
clamorous to recover his body and
one of the first to volunteer in the
mad expedition? With beating heart,
I cursed the timidity that had made
me reckless beyond my power of en¬
durance. Why had I not stayed snug
at home, clasped in the arms of my
bride for whose possession I had
done the black deed?
As we fled, one after another
shifted the burden to his shoulders;
five times had the sack been taken up
and each time I had trembled lest I
should be called upon next. But
what folly to shudder at touching
the enemy whom I had rendered
harmless! That a corpse will bleed
when its murderer lays even a finger
upon it, I knew to be true enough,
for I had seen it tested in the open
court of justice, but a mummy with
every drop of its blood burned out
by the sun, that could never accuse
me! I laughed aloud, made foolish
speeches and whistled many a tavern
catch to drive away the thought.
Lightning flashed in the west and
threw its white glare upon us from
time to time, and once, far in the
depths of the wind-stirred forest, I
saw and heard things too fearful for
human minds to bear: souls of mur¬
dered men, unshriven, who yelled
amid their torments for vengeance;
souls of murderers dying impenitent,
bearing ever upon them a grievous
burden of sin, in all eternity never to
be shaken off.
My companions, I could see, pre¬
tended to have heard nothing of this,
but they drew aside from me when
I sang shrilly and brandished my
dagger, gathering silently about him
who bore the load.
Why did they cluster so about that
accursed burden? What did they
see, what did they hear that was not
meant for me? Had the malignant
victim opened his withered jaws?
Was he moving those grinning lips?
Was he whispering with scorched and
blackened tongue that it was I, I
who had murdered his friend, here
on this selfsame spot at the cross¬
roads; that it was I who had given
him up to be tortured and slain for
my crime; that it was I, wretched
creature, who had stolen his life, his
heritage and his bride, all unpun¬
ished?
192
WEIRD TALES
“He shall not whisper so! They
are lies, all lies! I will stop his
mouth with dirt!” I screamed.
“Give me the sack!”
As I took it upon my back, the
heavens opened; they were full of
fire, and I stood revealed in such
light as flashes before the judgment
throne, dabbled with innocent blood.
With a mighty roar demons bore
me to the earth and plucked out my
soul. From hand to hand, from star
to star they tossed it whirling
through space.
Presently they forced me to look
down and I saw my unconscious
body lying in the forest; I saw the
sack bursted by a thunderbolt and
the shriveled limbs of the dead em¬
bracing mine. My companions had
fled; I realized that the Hand which
had felled me had written out my
guilt plainly for all men to read.
In obedience to the judgment of
God, my lifeless body was bound to
the wheel on the marketplace of
Reutlingcn and left to burn in the
sun, and when all was known to the
citizens of Tuebingen and they
realized that they had dealt death
unjustly the city fathers and the
good Duke Eberhard resolved that
the town should do penance for all
time. In the unfinished church they
built a round window depicting as a
symbol of their shame the figure of
a man perishing on the wheel.
The sculptor was sent to Reutlin-
gen and it was from my body,
exposed on the marketplace, that he
modeled the memorial of my victim.
T he morning-gray that precedes
the dawn glazed and chilled the
awful eye from which perforce I had
not removed my own.
While the voice had spoken I con¬
stantly questioned: When had I
heard that intonation? Was it years
ago? It seemed hundreds of years
ago. Was it in my earliest child¬
hood? Was it in this life or in
another existence until now forgot¬
ten? Was it the voice of one living
or of one who was dead? Or of the
dead returned to life?
As the light waxed I scanned
anxiously the form suspended in
endless torture, for a horrible sus¬
picion grew as I watched, but not
until the dawn tinged the faee of suf¬
fering and I saw it as one sees his
faee in a mirror did I know with
certitude that memory, asleep for
centuries, had awakened: The voice
ivas my own.
AS THE control-levers flashed
/A down under my hands our
Jl JLship dived down through
space with the swiftness of thought.
The next instant there came a jar¬
ring shock, and our craft spun over
like a whirling top. Everything in
the eonning-tower, windows and dials
and controls, seemed to be revolving
about me with lightning speed, while
I clung dizzily to the levers in my
hands. In a moment I managed to
swing them back into position, and
at once the ship righted herself and
sped smoothly on through the ether.
I drew a deep breath.
The trap-door in the little room’s
floor slid open, then, and the startled
face of big Hal Eur appeared, his
eyes wide.
W. T.—2
“By the Power, Jan Tor!” he
exclaimed; “that last meteor just
grazed us! An inch nearer and it
would have been the end of the
ship! ’ ’
I turned to him for a moment,
laughing. “A miss is as good as a
mile,” I quoted.
He grinned back at me. “Well,
remember that we ’re not out on the
Uranus patrol now,” he reminded
me. “What’s our course?”
“Seventy-two degrees sunward,
plane No. 8,” I told him, glancing
at the dials. “We’re less than four
hundred thousand miles from Earth,
now,” I added, nodding toward the
broad window before me.
Climbing up into the little eon¬
ning-tower, Hal Kur stepped over be-
193
194
WEIRD TALES
side me, and together we gazed out
ahead.
The sun was at the ship’s left, for
the moment, and the sky ahead was
one of deep black, in which the stars,
the flaming stars of interplanetary
space, shone like brilliant jewels.
. Directly ahead of us there glowed a
soft little orb of misty light, which
was growing steadily larger as we
raced on toward it. It was our des¬
tination, the cloud-veiled little world
of Earth, mother-planet of all our
race. To myself, who had passed
much of my life on the four outer
giants, on Jupiter and Saturn and
Uranus and Neptune, the little planet
ahead seemed insignificant, almost,
with its single tiny moon. And yet
from it, I knew, had come that un¬
ceasing stream of human life, that
dauntless flood of pioneers, which had
spread over all the solar system in
the last hundred thousand years.
They had gone out to planet after
planet, had conquered the strange
atmospheres and bacteria and gravi¬
tations, until now the races of man
held sway over all the sun’s eight
wheeling worlds. And it was from
this Earth, a thousand centuries be¬
fore, that there had ventured out the
first discoverers’ crude little space-
boats, whose faulty gravity-screens
and uncertain controls contrasted
strangely with the mighty leviathans
that flashed between the planets now.
Abruptly I was aroused from my
musings by the sharp ringing of a
bell at my elbow. “The telestereo,”
I said to Hal Kur. “Take the con¬
trols.” As he did so I stepped over
to the telestereo’s glass disk, inset in
the room’s floor, and touched a
switch beside it. Instantly there ap¬
peared standing upon the disk, the
image of a man in the blue and white
robe of the Supreme Council, a life-
size and moving and stereoscopically
perfect image, flashed across the void
of space to my apparatus by means
of etheric vibrations. Through the
medium of that projected image the
man himself could see and hear me as
well as I could see and hear him, and
at once he spoke directly to me.
“Jan Tor, Captain of Interplanet¬
ary Patrol Cruiser 79388,” he said,
in the official form of address. “The
command of the Supreme Council of
the League of Planets, to Jan Tor.
You are directed to proceed with all
possible speed to Earth, and immedi¬
ately upon your arrival there to re¬
port to the Council, at the Hall of
Planets. Is the order heard?”
“The order is heard and will be
obeyed,” I answered, making the
customary response, and the figure
on the disk bowed, then abruptly
vanished.
I turned at once to a speaking-
tube which connected w r ith the cruis¬
er’s screen rooms. “Make all speed
possible to reach Earth,” I ordered
the engineer who answered my call.
1 ‘ Throw open all the left and lower
screens and use the full attraction of
the sun until we are within twenty
thousand miles of Earth; then close
them and use the attraction of Jupi¬
ter and Neptune to brake our prog¬
ress. Is the order heard ? ’ ’
When he had acknowledged the
command I turned to Hal Kur.
“That should bring us to Earth with¬
in the hour,” I told him, “though
the Power alone knows what the
Supreme Council wants with a sim¬
ple patrol-captain.”
His laugh rumbled forth. “Why,
here’s unusual modesty, for you!
Many a time I’ve heard you tell how
the Eight Worlds would be run were
Jan Tor of the Council, and now
you’re but ‘a simple patrol-cap¬
tain!’ ”
With that parting gibe he slid
quickly down through the door in the
floor, just in time to escape a well-
aimed kick. I heard his deep laugh¬
ter bellow out again as the door
clanged shut behind him, and smiled
to myself. No one on the cruiser
would have permitted himself such
familiarity with its captain but Hal
CRASHING SUNS
195
Kur, but the big engineer well knew
that his thirty-odd years of service in
the Patrol made him a privileged
character.
As the door slammed shut behind
him, though, I forgot all else for the
moment and concentrated all my at¬
tention on the ship’s progress. It
was my habit to act as pilot of my
own cruiser, whenever possible, and
for the time being I was quite alone
in the round little pilot-house, or
conning-tower, set on top of the cruis¬
er’s long, fishlike hull. Only pride,
though, kept me from summoning an
assistant to the controls, for the sun
was pulling the cruiser downward
with tremendous velocity, now, and
as we sped down past Earth’s shining
little moon we ran into a belt of
meteorites which gave me some tick¬
lish moments. At last, though, we
were through the danger zone, and
were dropping down toward Earth*
with decreasing speed, as the screens
were thrown open which allowed the
pull of Neptune and Jupiter to check
our progress.
A touch of a button then brought a
pilot to replace me at the controls,
and as we fell smoothly down toward
the green planet below I leaned out
the window, watching the dense
masses of interplanetary shipping
through which we were now thread¬
ing our way. It seemed, indeed, that
half the vessels in the solar system
were assembled around and beneath
us, so close-packed was the jam of
traffic. There were mighty cargo-
ships, their mile-long hulls filled with
a thousand products of Earth, which
were ponderously getting under way
for the long voyages out to Uranus
or Neptune. Sleek, long passenger-
ships flashed past us, their transpar¬
ent upper-hulls giving us brief
glimpses of the gay groups on their
sunlit decks. Private pleasure-boats
were numerous, too, mostly affairs of
gleaming white, and most of these
were apparently bound for the an¬
nual Jupiter-Mars space-races. Here
and' there through the confusion
dashed the local police-boats of Earth,
and I caught sight of one or two of
the long black cruisers of the Inter¬
planetary Patrol, like our own, the
swiftest ships in space. At last,
though, after a slow, tortuous prog¬
ress through the crowded upper
levels, our craft had won through the
jam of traffic and was swooping down
upon the surface of Earth in a great
curve.
I n a panorama of meadow and for¬
est, dotted here and there with
gleaming white cities, the planet’s
parklike surface unrolled before me
as we sped across it. We rocketed
over one of its oceans, seeming hardly
more than a pond to my eyes after
the mighty seas of Jupiter and the
vast ice-fringed oceans of Neptune;
and then, as we flashed over land
again, there loomed up far ahead the
gigantic white dome of the great Hall
of Planets, permanent seat of the
Supreme Council and the center of
government of the Eight Worlds. A
single titanic structure of gleaming
white, that reared its towering dome
into the air for over two thousand
feet, it grew swiftly larger as we
raced on toward it. In a moment we
were beside it, and the cruiser was
slanting down toward the square
landing-court behind the great dome.
As we came to rest there without
a jar, I snapped open a small door in
the conning-tower’s side, and in a
moment had descended to the ground
by means of the ladder inset in the
cruiser’s side. At once there ran
forward to meet me a thin, spectacled
young man in the red-slashed robe
of the Scientists, an owlish-looking
figure at whom I stared for a mo¬
ment in amazement. Then I had re¬
covered from my astonishment and
was grasping his hands.
“Sarto Sen!” I cried. “By the
Power, I’m glad to see you! I
196
WEIRD TALES
thought you were working in the
Venus Laboratories.”
My friend’s eyes were shining with
welcome, but for the moment he
wasted no time in speeeh, hurrying
me across the court toward the inner
door of the great building.
“The Council is assembling at this
moment, ’ ’ he explained rapidly as we
hastened along. “I got the chair¬
man, Mur Dak, to hold up the meet¬
ing until you arrived.”
“But what’s it all about?” I asked,
in bewilderment. “Why wait for
met”
“You will understand in a mo¬
ment,” he answered, his face grave.
“But here is the Council Hall.”
By that time we had hastened down
a series of long white corridors and
now passed through a high-arched
doorway into the great Council Hall
itself. I had visited the place before
—who in the Eight Worlds has not?
—and the tremendous, circular room
and colossal, soaring dome above it
were not new to me, but now I saw
it as few ever did, with the eight hun¬
dred members of the Supreme Coun¬
cil gathered in solemn session.'
Grouped in a great half-circle around
the dais of the chairman stretched the
curving rows of scats, each occupied
by a member, and each hundred
members gathered around the symbol
of the world they represented,
whether that world was tiny Mercury
or mighty Jupiter. On the dais at
the center stood .the solitary figure
of Mur Dak, the chairman. It was
evident that, as my friend had in¬
formed me, the Council had just
assembled, since for the moment Mur
Dak was not speaking, but just gaz¬
ing calmly out over the silent rows
of members.
In a moment we had passed down
the aisle to his dais and stood be¬
neath him. To my salute he returned
a word of greeting only, then mo¬
tioned us to two empty seats which
had apparently been reserved for us.
‘As I slipped into mine I wondered.
fleetingly, what big Hal Kur would
have thought to see his captain thus
taking a seat with the Supreme Coun¬
cil itself. Then that thought slipped
from my mind as Mur Dak began to
speak.
“Men of the Eight Worlds,” he
said slowly, “I have called this ses¬
sion of the Council for the gravest of
reasons. I have called it because dis¬
covery has just been made of a peril
which menaces the civilization, the
very existence, of all our race—a
deadly peril which is rushing upon
us with unthinkable speed, and which
threatens the annihilation of our en¬
tire universe!”
He paused for a moment, and a
slow, deep hum of surprize ran over
the assembled members. For the
first time, now, I saw that Mur Dak’s
keen, intellectual face was white and
drawn, and I bent forward, breath¬
less, tensely listening. In a moment
the chairman was speaking on.
“It is necessary for me to go back
a little,” he said, “in order that you
may understand the situation which
confronts its. As you know, our sun
and its eight spinning planets are
not motionless in space. Our sun,
with its family of worlds, has for eons
been moving through space at the
approximate rate of twelve miles a
second, across the Milky Way. You
know, too, that all other suns, all
other stars, are moving through space
likewise, some at a lesser speed than
ours and some at a speed inconceiv¬
ably greater. Flaming new suns,
dying red suns, cold dark suns, each
is flashing through the infinities of
space on its own course, each toward
its appointed doom.
“And among that infinity of
thronging stars is that one which we
know as Alto, that great red star,
that dying sun, which has been stead¬
ily drawing nearer to us as the cen¬
turies have passed, and which is now
nearest to us of all the stars. It is
but little larger than our own sun,
and as you all know, it and our own
CEASHING SUNS
197
sun are moving toward each other,
rushing nearer each other by thou¬
sands of miles each second, since Alto
is moving at an unthinkable speed.
Our scientists have calculated that
the two suns would pass each other
ov.er a year from now, and thereafter
would be speeding away from each
other. There has been no thought of
danger to us from the passing of this
dying sun, for it has been known that
its path through space would cause
it to pass us at a distance of billions
of miles. And had the star Alto but
continued in that path all would have
been well. But now a thing unprec¬
edented has happened.
“Some eight weeks ago the South
Observatory on Mars reported that
the approaching star Alto seemed to
have changed its course a little, bear¬
ing inward toward the solar system.
The shift was a small one, but any
change of course on the part of a
star is quite unprecedented, so for
the last eight weeks the approaching
star has been closely watched. And
during those weeks the effect of its
shift in course has become more and
more apparent. More and more the
star has veered from the path it
formerly followed, until it is now
many millions of miles out of its
course, with its deflection growing
greater every minute. And this
morning came the climax. For this
morning I received a telestereo mes¬
sage from the director of the Bureau
of Astonomical Science, on Venus, in
which he informed me that the star’s
change of course is disastrous, for us.
For instead of passing us by billions
of miles, as it would have done, the
star is now heading straight toward
our own sun. And our sun is racing
to meet it!
“I need not explain to you what
the result of this situation will be.
It is calculated by our astronomers
that in less than a year our sun and
this dying star will meet head on,
will crash together in one gigantic
flaming collision. And the result of
that collision will be the annihilation
of our universe. For the planets of
our system will perish like flowers in
a furnace, in that titanic holocaust of
crashing suns!”
M ur dak’s voice ceased, and over
the great hall there reigned a
deathlike silence. I think that in that
moment all of us were striving to
comprehend with our dazed minds
the thing that Mur Dak had told us,
to realize the existence of the deadly
peril that was rushing to wipe out
our universe. Then, before that si¬
lence could give way to the inevitable
roar of surprize and fear, a single
member rose from the Mercury sec¬
tion of the Council, a splendid figure
who spoke directly to Mur Dak.
“For a hundred thousand years,”
he said, “we races of man have met
danger after danger, and have con¬
quered them, one after another. We
have spread from world to world,
have conquered and grasped and held
until we are masters of a universe.
And now that that universe faces de¬
struction, are we to sit idly by? Is
there nothing whatever to be done by
us, no chance, however slight, to avert
this doom?”
A storm of cheers burst out when
he finished, a wild tempest of ap¬
plause that raged over the hall with
cyclonic fury for minutes. I was on
my feet with the rest, by that time,
shouting like a madman. It was the
inevitable reaction from that moment
of heart-deadening panic, was the up-
rush of the old will to conquer that
has steeled the hearts of men in a
thousand deadly perils. When it had
died down a little, Mur Dak spoke
again.
“It is not my purpose to allow
death to rush upon us without an
effort to turn it aside,” he told us,
“and fortune has placed in our
hands, at this moment, the chance to
strike out in our own defense. For
the last three years Sarto Sen, one of
our most brilliant young scientists,
198
WEIRD TALES
has been working on a great problem,
the problem of using etheric vibra¬
tions as - a propulsion force to speed
matter through space. A chip float¬
ing in water can be propelled across
the surface of the water by waves in
it; then why should not matter like¬
wise be propelled through space,
through the ether, by means of waves
or vibrations in that ether? Experi¬
menting on this problem, Sarto Sen
has been able to make small models
which can be flashed through space,
through the ether, by means of arti¬
ficially created vibrations in that
ether, vibrations which can be pro¬
duced with as high a frequency as the
light-vibrations, and which thus pro¬
pel the models through space at a
speed equal to the speed of light
itself.
“Using this principle, Sarto Sen
lias constructed a small ten-man cruis¬
er, which can attain the velocity of
light and which he has intended to
use in a voyage of exploration to the
nearer stars. Until now, as you know,
we have been unable to venture out¬
side the solar system, since even the
swiftest of our gravity-screen space¬
ships can not make much more than
a few hundred thousand miles an
hour, and at that rate it would take
centuries to reach the nearest star.
But in this new vibration-propelled
cruiser, a voyage to the stars would
be a matter of weeks, instead of cen¬
turies.
“Several hours ago I ordered Sarto
Sen to bring his new cruiser here to
the Hall of Planets, fully equipped,
and at this moment it is resting in one
of the landing-courts here, manned by
a crew of six men experienced in its
operation and ready for a trip of any
length. And it is my proposal that
we send this new cruiser, in this
emergency, out to the approaching
star Alto, to discover what forces or
circumstances have -caused the near¬
ing sun to veer from its former path.
We know that those forces or those
circumstances must be extraordinary
in character, thus to change the
course of a star; and if we can dis¬
cover what phenomena are the causes
of the star’s deflection, there is a
chance that we might be able to re¬
peat or reverse those phenomena, to
swerve the star again from the path
it now follows, and so save our solar
system, our universe.”
Mur Dak paused for a moment, and
there was an instant of sheer, stunned
silence in the great hall. For the
audacity of his proposal was over¬
whelming, even to us who roamed the
limits of the solar system at will. It
was well enough to rove the ways of
our own universe, as men had done
for ages, but to venture out into the
vast gulf beyond, to flash out toward
the stars themselves and calmly in¬
vestigate the erratic behavior of a ti¬
tanic, thundering sun, that was a pro¬
posal that left us breathless for the
moment. But only for the moment,
for when our brains had caught the
magnitude of the idea another wild
burst of applause thundered from the
massed members, applause that rose
still higher when the chairman called
Sarto Sen himself to the dais and pre¬
sented him to the assembly. Then,
when the tumult had quieted a little,
Mur Dak went on.
“The cruiser will start at once,
then,” he said, “and there remains
but to choose a captain for it. Sarto
Sen and his men will have charge of
the craft’s operation, of course, but
there must be a leader for the whole
expedition, some quick-thinking man
of action. And I have already chosen
such a man, subject to your approval,
one whose name most of you have
heard. A man young in years who
has served most of .his life in the
Interplanetary Patrol, and who dis¬
tinguished himself highly two years
ago in the great space-fight with the
interplanetary pirates off Japetus:
Jan Tor!”
I swear that up to the last second I
had no shadow of an idea that Mur
Dak was speaking of me, and when lie
CRASHING SUNS
199
turned to gaze straight at me, and
spoke my name, I could only stare in
bewilderment. Those around me,
though, pushed me to my feet, and the
next moment another roar of ap¬
plause from the hundreds of members
around me struck me in the face like
a physical blow. I walked clumsily
to the dais, under that storm of ap¬
proval, and stood there beside Mur
Dak, still half-dazed by the unexpect¬
edness of the thing. The chairman
smiled out at the shouting members.
“No need to ask if you approve my
choice, ’ ’ he said, and then turned to
me, his face grave. “Jan Tor,” he
addressed me, his solemn voice sound¬
ing clearly over the suddenly hushed
hall, “to you is given the command of
this expedition, the most momentous
in our history. For on this expedi¬
tion and on you, its leader, depends
the fate of our solar system. It is the
order of the Supreme Council, then,
that you take command of the new
cruiser and proceed with all speed to
the approaching star, Alto, to dis¬
cover the reason for that star’s
change of course and to ascertain
whether any means exist of again
swerving it from its path. Is the
order heard?”
F ive minutes later I strode with
Sarto Sen and Hal Kur into the
landing-court where lay the new
cruiser, its long, fishlike hull glitter¬
ing brilliantly in the sunlight. A door
in its side snapped open as we drew
near, and through it there stepped
out to meet us one of the six blue-clad
engineers who formed the craft’s
crew. “All is ready for the start,”
he said to Sarto Sen in reply to the
latter’s question, standing aside for
us to enter.
We passed through the door into
the cruiser’s hull. To the left an
open door gave me a glimpse of the
ship’s narrow living-quarters, while
to the right extended a long room in
which other blue-clad figures were
standing ready beside the ship’s shin¬
ing, conelike vibration-generators.
Directly before us rose a small wind¬
ing stairway, up which Sarto Sen led
the way. In a moment, following, we
had reached the cruiser’s conning-
tower, and immediately Sarto Sen
stepped over to take his place at the
controls.
He touched a stud, and a warning
bell gave sharp alarm throughout the
cruiser’s interior. There were hurry¬
ing feet, somewhere beneath us, and
then a loud clang as the heavy triple¬
doors slammed shut. At once began
the familiar throb-throb-throb of the
oxygen pumps, already at work re¬
plenishing and purifying the air in
our hermetically sealed vessel.
Sarto Sen paused for a moment,
glancing through the broad window
before him, then reached forth and
pressed a series of three buttons. A
low, deep humming filled the cruis¬
er’s whole interior, and there was an
instant of breathless hesitation. Then
came a sharp click as Sarto Sen
pressed another switch; there was a
quick sigh of wind, and instantly the
sunlit landing-court outside vanished,
replaced in a fraction of a second by
the deep, star-shot night of inter¬
planetary space. I glanced quickly
down through a side window and had
a momentary glimpse of a spinning
gray ball beneath us, a ball that
dwindled to a point and vanished
even in the moment that I glimpsed
it. It was Earth, vanishing behind
us as we fled with frightful velocity
out into the gulf of space.
We were hurtling through the belt
of asteroids beyond Mars, now, and
then ahead, and to the left, there
loomed the mighty world of Jupiter,
expanding quickly into a large white-
belted globe as we rocketed on toward
it, then dropping behind and dimin¬
ishing in its turn as we sped past it.
The sun behind us had dwindled by
that time to a tiny disk of fire. An
hour later and another giant world
flashed past on our right, the icy
planet Neptune, outermost of the
200
WEIRD TALES
Eight Worlds. Wc had passed out¬
side the last frontier of the solar sys¬
tem. and were now racing out into the
mighty deeps of space with the speed
of light on our mad journey to save a
universe.
2
A x hour after we had left the solar
system Hal Kur and I still stood
with Sarto Sen in the cruiser’s con¬
ning-tower, staring out with him at
the stupendous panorama of gathered
stars that lay before us. The sun of
our own system had dwindled to a far
point of light behind us, by that time,
one star among the millions that
spangled the deep black heavens
around us. For here, even more than
between the planets, the stars lay be¬
fore us in their true glory, undimmed
by proximity to any one of them. A
host of glittering points of fire, blue
and green and white and red and
yellow, they dotted the rayless skies
thickly in all directions, and thronged
like a great drift of swarming bees
toward our upper left, where
stretched the stupendous belt of the
Milky Way. And dead ahead, now,
shone a single orb that blazed in
smoky, crimson glory, a single great
point of red fire. It was Alto, I
knew, the sullen-burning star that
was our goal.
It was with something of unbelief
that I gazed at the red star, for
though the dials before me assured
me that we were speeding on toward
it at close to two hundred thousand
miles a second, yet except for the deep
humming of the craft’s vibratory
apparatus one would have thought
that the ship was standing still.
There was no sound of wind from
outside, no friendly, near-by planets,
nothing by which the eye could meas¬
ure the tremendous velocity at which
we moved. We were racing through
a void whose very immensity and
vacancy staggered the mind, an
emptiness of space in which the stars
themselves floated like dust-particles
in air, a gulf traversed only by hurt¬
ling meteors or flaring comets, and
now by our own frail little craft.
Though I was peculiarly affected by
the strangeness of our position, big
Hal Kur was even more so. He had
traveled the space-lanes of the solar
system for the greater part of his
life, and now all of his time-honored
rules of interplanetary navigation
had been upset by this new cruiser, a
craft entirely without gravity-screens,
which was flashing from sun to sun
propelled by invisible vibrations only.
I saw his head wagging in doubt as
he stared out into that splendid vista
of thronging stars, and in a moment
more he left us, descending into the
cruiser’s hull for an inspection of its
strange propulsion apparatus.
When he had gone I plunged at :
once into the task of learning the con¬
trol and operation of our craft. The
next two hours I spent under the
tutelage of Sarto Sen, and at the end
of that time I had already learned
the essential features of the ship’s
control. There was a throttle which
regulated the frequency of the vibra¬
tions generated in the engine-room be¬
low, thus increasing or decreasing our
speed at will, and a lever and dial
which were used to project the pro¬
pelling vibrations out at any angle
behind us, thus controlling the direc¬
tion in which we moved. The main
requisite in handling the craft, I
found, was a precise and steady hand
on the two controls, since a mere
touch on one would change our speed
with lightning swiftness, while a
slight movement of the other would
send us millions of miles out of our
course almost instantly.
At the end of two hours, however,
I had attained sufficient skill to be
able to hold the cruiser to her course
without any large deviations or
changes of speed, and Sarto Sen had
confidence enough in my ability to
leave me alone at the controls. He
departed down the little stair behind
me, to give a few minutes’ inspection
CRASHING SUNS
201
to the generators below, and I was
left alone in the conning-tower.
Standing there in the dark little
room, its only sound the deep hum¬
ming of the generators below and its
only lights the hooded glows which
illuminated the dials and switches be¬
fore me, I gazed intently through the
broad fore-window, into that crowd¬
ing confusion of swarming suns that
lay around us, that medley of jeweled
fires in which the great star Alto
burned like a living flame. For a
long time I gazed toward the star that
was our goal, and then my thoughts
were broken into by the sound of
Sarto Sen reascending the stair be¬
hind me. I half turned to greet him,
then turned swiftly back to the win¬
dow, stiffening into sudden attention.
My eyes had caught sight of a small
patch of deep blackness far ahead, an
area of utter darkness which was
swiftly expanding, growing, until in
less than a second, it seemed, it had
blotted out half the thronging stars
ahead. For a moment the sudden ap¬
pearance of it dumfounded me so
that I stood motionless, and then my
hands leaped out to the controls. I
heard Sarto Sen cry out, behind me,
and had a glimpse of the darkness
ahead, obscuring almost all the heav¬
ens. The next moment, before my
hands had more than closed upon the
levers, all light in the conning-tower
vanished in an instant, and we were
plunged into the most utter darkness
which I have ever experienced. At
the same moment the familiar hum of
the vibration-generators broke off
suddenly.
I think that the moment that fol¬
lowed was the one in which I came
first to know the meaning of terror.
Every spark of light had vanished,
and the the silencing of the vibration-
generators could only mean that our
Slip was drifting blindly through this
smothering blackness. , From the
cruiser’s hull, below, came shouts of
fear and horror, and I heard Sarto
Sen feeling his way to my side and
fumbling with the controls. Then,
with startling abruptness, the lights
flashed on again in the conning-
tower and through the windows there
burst again the brilliance of the
starry heavens. At the same moment
the vibration-generators began again
to give off their deep humming drone.
Sarto Sen turned to me, his face
white as my own. Instinctively we
turned toward the conning-tower’s
rear-window, and there, behind us,
lay that stupendous area of blackness
from which we had just emerged. A
vast, irregular area oi' utter darkness,
it was decreasing rapidly in size as
we sped on away from it. In a mo¬
ment it had shrunk to the spot it had
been when first I glimpsed it, and
then it had vanished, entirely. And
again we were racing on through the
familiar, star-shot skies.
I found my voice at last. “In the
name of the Power,” I exclaimed,
“what was that?”
Sarto Sen shook his head, musingly.
“An area without light,” he said,
half to himself; “and our genera¬
tors—they, too, could not function
there. It must have been a hole, an
empty space, in the ether itself.”
I could only stare at him in amaze¬
ment. “A hole in the ether?” I re¬
peated.
He nodded quickly. “You saw
what happened ? Light is a vibration
of the ether, and light was non-exist¬
ent in that area. Even our genera¬
tors ceased to give off etlieric vibra¬
tions, there being no ether for them
to function in. It’s always been
thought that the ether pervaded all
space, but apparently even it has its
holes, its cavities, which accounts for
those dark, iightless areas in the heav¬
ens which have always puzzled
astronomers. If our tremendous
speed and momentum hadn’t brought
us through this one, the pull of the
different stars would have slowed us
down and stopped us, prisoning us
in that dark area until the end of
time.”
202
WEIRD TALES
I shook my head, only half-listen¬
ing, for the strangeness of the thing
had unnerved me. '‘Take the con¬
trols,” I told Sarto Sen. ‘‘Meteors
wre all in the day’s work, but holes
in the ether are too much for me.”
Leaving him to his watch over the
«hip’s flight, I descended to the cruis¬
er’s interior, where the engineers
were still discussing with Hal Kur
the experience through which we had
just passed. In a few words I ex¬
plained to them Sarto Sen’s theory,
and they went back to their posts
with awed faces. Passing into the
ship’s living-quarters myself, I threw
myself on a bunk there and strove to
sleep. Sleep came quickly enough,
induced by the generators’ soothing
drone, but with it came torturing
nightmares in which I seemed to
move blindly onward through endless
realms of darkness, searching in vain
for an outlet into the light of day.
W hen I awoke some six hours
later, the position of the ship
seemed quite unchanged. The steady
humming of its generators, the
smooth, onward flight, the legions of
dazzling stars around us, all seemed
as before. But when I ascended
again to the conning-tower, to relieve
Sarto Sen at the controls, I saw that
already the star Alto had increased
a little its brilliance, dimming the
stars around and behind it. And
through the succeeding hours of my
watch in the conning-tower, it seemed
to me almost, that the red orb was
expanding before my sight, as we
hurtled on toward it. That, though,
I knew to be only an illusion of my
straining eyes.
But as day followed day—sunless,
dawnless days which we could meas¬
ure only by our time-dials—the
crimson star ahead waxed steadily to
greater glory. By the time we marked
off the twentieth day of our flight
Alto had expanded into a moon of
crimson flame, whose sullen splendor
outrivaled the brilliance of all the
starry hosts around us; for by that
time we had covered half the distance
between our own sun and the 'dying
one ahead, and were now flashing on
over the last half of our journey.
Days they were without change,
almost without incident. Twiee we
had sighted vast areas of blackness,
great ether-cavities like the one we
had first plunged through, but these
we were fortunate enough to avoid,
swerving far out of our course to
pass them by. Once, too, I had
glimpsed for a single moment a colos¬
sal black globe which flashed beside
our path for an instant and then was
left behind by our tremendous speed.
Only a glimpse did I get of this dark
wanderer, which might have been
either a runaway planet or burned-
out star. And once our ship blun¬
dered directly into a vast maelstrom
of meteoric material, a mighty whirl¬
pool of interstellar wreckage spin¬
ning there between the stars, and
from which we won clear only by;
grace of Sarto Sen’s skilful hands at
the controls.
Except for these few incidents,
though, our days were monotonous
and changeless, days in which the
care of the generators and the alter¬
nate watches in the conning-tower
were our only occupations. And a
strange stillness had seized us as we
fled onward, a brooding silence that
fastened itself upon my friends even
as upon myself. Something from
the vast, eternal silence through
which we moved, some quality out of
those trackless infinities of space,
seemed to have entered into our in¬
most souls. We went about our
duties like men in a dream. And
dreamlike our life had become to us,
I think, and still more remote and
unreal and dreamlike had become the
'life of the eight worlds that lay so
far behind us.
I had forgotten, almost, the mission
upon which we sped, and through the
long watches in the conning-tower
my eyes followed the steady largening
CRASHING SUNS
203
of the red sun ahead with curiosity
only. Day by day its fiery disk was
creeping farther across the heavens,
until at last everything in the cruiser
was drenched by the crimson, blood¬
like light that streamed in through
our sunward windows. Then, at last,
my mind came back to consideration
of the work that lay before us, for
over thirty days of our journey had
passed and there remained less than
a hundred billion miles between Alto
and ourselves.
I gave orders to slow our progress,
then, and at a somewhat slackened
speed our cruiser began to slant up
above the plane of the great sun, for
it was my plan to gain a position
millions of miles directly above the
star and then hover there, accom¬
panying it on its race through space
and using the powerful little tele¬
scopic windows in the conning-tower
for our first observations. So through
the next two days the giant sun, a
single great sea of crimson fire to
our eyes, crept steadily downward
across the skies as we slanted over
it. Our outside instruments showed
us that its heat was many times less
than that of our own sun, for this
was a dying star. Even so it was
necessary to slide special light-repel¬
ling shields over all our windows, so
blinding was the star’s glare.
O n the fortieth day of our journey
we had reached our goal.
Gathered in the conning-tower, Sar¬
to Sen, Hal Kur and I gazed down
through its circular, periscopic under¬
window at the mighty star beneath.
We had reached a spot approximately
twenty million miles above /the sun
and had turned our course, so that
we now raced above it at a speed that
matched its own, like a fly hovering
over a world. Below us there lay
only a single vast ocean of crimson
flame, that reached almost from hori¬
zon to horizon, all but filling the
heavens beneath us. It was in an
awed silence that we gazed down into
this tremendous sea of fire, knowing
as we did that only the power of the
ship’s generators kept it from plung¬
ing downward.
“And we are expected to investi¬
gate— that!” said Hal Kur, gazing
down into the hell of flame below.
“They talk of turning that aside!”
I looked at him, hopelessly. Then,
before I could speak, there came a
sudden exclamation from Sarto Sen,
and he beckoned me to his side. He
had been staring out through one of
the powerful little telescopic windows
set in the conning-tower’s wall, and
as I reached him he pointed eagerly
through it, out beyond the rim of
the fiery sun beneath. I gazed in
that direction, straining my eyes
against the glare, and then glimpsed
the thing that had attracted his at¬
tention. It was a little spot of dun-
colored light lying beyond the crim¬
son sun, a buff-colored little ball that
hung steady behind the great sun at
a distance of perhaps a hundred mil¬
lion miles and that accompanied it on
its flight through space.
“A planet!” I whispered, and he
nodded. Then Hal Kur, who had
joined us, extended his hand too, with
a muttered exclamation, and there,
thrice the distance of the first from
Alto, there hung another and smaller
ball. In a few minutes, using the
powerful inset glasses, we had dis¬
covered no less than thirteen worlds
that spun about the sun beneath us
and that accompanied it on its tre¬
mendous journey through space.
Most seemed to revolve in orbits that
were billions of miles from their par¬
ent sun, and none of the others was
as large as that inmost planet which
we had first discovered. It was to¬
ward this largest world that we final¬
ly decided to head first; so with Sarto
Sen at the controls we slanted down
again from our position over the
great sun, arrowing down at reduced
speed toward the inmost world.
Its color was changing from buff
to pale red as we neared it, and its
204
WEIRD TALES
apparent size was increasing with
tremendous speed as our craft shot
down toward it. Gradually, though,
Sarto Sen decreased our velocity
until by the time we reached an alti¬
tude of a few hundred miles above
this world our ship was moving very
slowly. And now, from outside, came
a thin shrieking of wind, a mounting
roar that told us plainly that we were
speeding through air again, and that
this world had at least an atmosphere.
None of us remarked on that, though,
all our attention being held by the
scene below.
Drenched in the crimson light of
the sun behind us, if was a crimson
world that lay beneath us, a lurid
world whose mountains, plains and
valleys were all of the same bloodlike
hue as the light that fell upon them,
whose very lakes and rivers gave back
to the sky the scarlet tinge that per¬
vaded all things here. And as our
cruiser swept lower we saw, too, that
the redness of the planet beneath was
no mere illusion of the crimson sun¬
light but inherent in itself, since all
of the vegetation below, grassy plains
and tangled shrubs and stunted, un¬
familiar trees, were of that same red
tinge that was the color-keynote of
this world.
Strange and weird as it appeared,
though, there seemed no sign of life
on the broad plains and barren hills
beneath us, and abruptly Sarto Sen
headed the ship across the planet’s
face, speeding low over its surface
while we scanned intently the pano¬
rama that unrolled beneath us. For
minutes our straining scrutiny was
unrewarded; and then, far ahead,
a colossal shape loomed vaguely
through the dusky crimson light, tak¬
ing form, as we-sped on toward it, as
a tremendous, soaring tower. And
involuntarily we gasped as our eyes
took in the hugeness of its dimen¬
sions. It consisted of four slender
black columns, each less than fifty
feet in thickness, which rose from
the ground at points a half-mile
separated, four mighty pillars which
slanted up into the crimson sunlight
for fully ten thousand feet, meeting
and merging at that distance above
the ground and combining to sup¬
port a circular platform two hundred
feet in diameter. Our ship was
hovering a few thousand feet above
this platform, and on it we could see
the shapes of what appeared to be
machines, and other shapes that
moved about them, though whether
these last were human or not could
not be distinguished from our height.
And then, as my gaze fell toward the
mighty tower’s base, my cry brought
the eyes of the others to follow my
pointing finger. For gathered be¬
neath and around the tower and ex¬
tending away into the surrounding
country were the massed buildings
of a city. Low and flat-roofed and
utterly strange in appearance were
those buildings, and the narrow
streets that pierced their huddled
masses were all of the same smooth
blackness as the tower itself—black,
deep black, the roofs and streets and
walls, laced with crimson parks and
gardens that lay against their black¬
ness like splashes of blood. And
looming over all, its four tremendous
columns rearing themselves above the
streets and roofs and gardens like
the limbs of a bestriding giant, the
mighty tower soared into the crim¬
son sunlight.
Sarto Sen flung an arm down to¬
ward the tower’s platform, beneath
us, and toward the shapes that moved
on that platform. “Inhabited!” he
cried. “You see? And that means that
Alto’s change in course was-”
He broke off; uttered a smothered
cry. A spark of intense white light
had suddenly broken into being on
the platform beneath us, a beam of
blinding light that stabbed straight
up toward us, bathing the cruiser in
its unearthly glow. And suddenly
our ship was falling!
Sarto Sen sprang to the controls,
wrenched around the power-lever.
CRASHING SUNS
205
“That ray!” he cried. “It’s attrac¬
tive !—it’s pulling us down!”
Our ship was vibrating now to the
full force of its generators, but still
we were falling, plunging headlong
down toward the round platform be¬
neath. I glimpsed Sarto Sen work¬
ing frantically with the controls,
and heard a hoarse cry from Hal
Kur. There was a blinding glare of
light all around us, now, and through
the window I saw the platform below
rushing up toward us with appalling
speed. It was nearer, now . . . nearer
. . . nearer . . . crash!
3
I thixk that in the minute after the
crash no one in the conning-tower
made a movement. The blinding ray
outside had vanished at the moment
of our crash, and we were now lying
sprawled on the little room’s floor,
where the shock of the collision had
thrown us. In a moment, though, I
reached for a support and scrambled
to my feet. As I did so there came
shouts from the hull beneath us, and
then a loud clang as one of the cruis¬
er’s lower doors swung open. I
sprang to the window, just in time to
see our six engineers pour out of the
hull beneath me, emerging onto the
platform on which our ship rested,
and gazing about them with startled
eyes.
I ripped open the little door in the
conning-tower’s side, to shout to them
to come back, and even as I did so
saw one of the men run back into the
cruiser as though in fear. The others
were staring fixedly across the broad
platform, and in that moment, before
I could voice the warning on my lips,
their doom struck. There was a quick
sigh of wind, and from across the
platform there sprang toward them
a tiny ball of rose-colored fire, a ball
that touched one of the men and
instantly expanded into a whirlwind
of raging flame. A single moment it
blazed there, then vanished. And
where the five men had stood was—
nothing.
Stunned, stupefied, my eyes trav¬
eled slowly across the surface of the
great platform. Strange, huge
machines stood close-grouped upon
it, great shining structures utterly
unfamiliar in appearance. At the
center of this group of mechanisms
stood the largest of them, a great tube
of metal fully a hundred feet in
length, which was mounted on a
strong pedestal and which pointed up
into the sky like a great telescope. It
was none of these things, though,
that held my attention in that first
horror-stricken moment of inspection.
It was the dozen or more grotesque
and terrible shapes which stood
grouped at the platform’s farther
edge, returning my gaze.
They were globes, globes of pink,
unhealthy-looking flesh more than a
yard in diameter, each upheld by six
slender, insectlike legs, not more than
twelve inches long, and each posses¬
sing two similar short, thin limbs
which served them as arms and which
projected at opposite points from
their pink, globular bodies. And be¬
tween those arms, set. directly in the
side of the round body itself, were
the only features—two roimd black
eyes of large size, browless and pupil¬
less, and a circle of pale skin which
beat quickly in and out with their
breathing.
Motionless they stood, regarding
me with their unhuman eyes, and
now I saw that one, a little in ad¬
vance of the others, was holding ex¬
tended toward me a thin disk of
metal, from which, I divined instant¬
ly, the destroying fire had sprung.
Yet still I made no movement, star¬
ing across the platform with sick hor¬
ror in my soul.
I heard a thick exclamation from
Hal Kur, behind me, as he and Sarto
Sen came to my side and gazed out
with me. And now the grouped crea¬
tures opposite were giving utterance
to sounds—speech-sounds with which
206
WEIRD TALES
they seemed to converse—low, deep,
thrumming tones which came appar¬
ently from their breathing-mem¬
branes. They moved toward us, the
fire-disk still trained upon us, and
then one stopped and motioned from
us to the platform on which he stood.
He repeated the gesture, and its
meaning was unmistakable. Slowly
we stepped out of the conning-tower
and descended by the ladder in the
cruiser’s side to the platform itself.
Our captors seemed to pause for a
moment, now, and I had opportunity
for a quick inspection of our ship.
Sucked down as it had been by the
attractive ray of those strange crea¬
tures, it had yet fallen on a clear
space on the platform and seemed to
have suffered no serious injury, for
it was stoutly built and our fall had
been short. The lower door in its
side was still open, I saw, and now
a half-dozen of the globe-creatures
entered this, scm*rying forward like
quick insects on their six short legs.
They disappeared from view inside
the cruiser’s hull, returning in a mo¬
ment with their fire-disks trained
upon the single engineer who had
run back into the ship and escaped
the doom of his fellows. This man,
Nar Lon by name, had been the chief
of the six engineers, and as his
guards herded him to our side his
face was white with terror. Find¬
ing us still alive, though, he seemed
to take courage a little.
Now the thrumming conversation
of the creatures about us broke off,
and one turned to the edge of the
platform, touching a stud in the
floor there. At once a circular sec¬
tion of the metal floor, some ten feet
across, slid aside, revealing a round
dark well of the same diameter,
which apparently extended down
into one of the great tower’s four
supporting columns. At the top of
this shaft hung a small, square
metal cage, or elevator, and into
this we were shepherded at once,
two of our captors entering the cage
with us and keeping their fire-disks
trained still upon us. There was the
click of a switch, then a sudden.
roar of wind, and instantly the cage
was shooting downward with tre¬
mendous speed. Only a moment we
flashed down through the roaring
darkness, and then the cage came to
rest and a section of wall beside it
slid aside, admitting a flood of
dusky, -crimson light. At once we
stepped out, followed by our two
guards.
We were standing at the foot of a
mighty column down which we had
come, standing on the floor of a
great, circular, flat-roofed room, in
and out of which were moving
scores of the globe-creatures. From
the very center of the room, behind
us, rose the fifty-foot thickness of
the huge pillar, soaring up oblique¬
ly and disappearing through the
building’s roof, two hundred feet
above. Except for the pillar and
the hurrying figures around us the
great room was quite bare and
empty, lit only by high, narrow slits
in its walls which admitted long,
shafting bars of the crimson sun¬
light. I heard Hal Kur muttering
his astonishment at the titanic scale
on which all things in this strange
world seemed planned, and then
there came a thrumming order from
our guards, who gestured pointedly
toward a high doorway set in the
room’s wall opposite us. Obedient¬
ly we started across the floor toward
it.
Passing through it, we found our¬
selves in a long, narrow corridor,
apparently a connecting passage be¬
tween another building and the one
we had just left. There were win¬
dows on its sides, circular openings
in the walls, and as we passed down
the hall I glimpsed through these
the city that lay around us, a visfa
of black streets and crimson gardens
through which thronged other
masses of the globe-creatures. Then,
before I could see more, the corridor
CRASHING SUNS
207
ended and we passed into a large
anteroom occupied by a half-dozen
of the globe-men, all armed with
fire-disks which they trained instant¬
ly upon us.
There ensued a brief conversation
between our guards and these, and
then they stood aside, allowing us
to pass through a narrow doorway
into a smaller room beyond. Its
sides were lined with shelves hold¬
ing what seemed to be models of
machines, all quite unfamiliar in ap¬
pearance. At the far end of the
room stood a low, desklike structure
whose surface was covered with
other models and with white sheets
of stiff cloth or paper covered with
drawings and designs, and behind
this sat another of the globe-men, a
little larger than any we had yet
seen. As we halted before him he
inspected us for a moment with his
large, unwinking eyes, then spoke
in deep, thrumming inflections to
our two guards. The latter an¬
swered him at length, and again he
considered us.
During the moments that we
stood there I had noted that Sarto
Sen, beside me, seemed intensely
interested in the models and design-
covered sheets which lay on the
desk before us. Now, as the crea¬
ture behind the desk seemed to
pause, my friend moved forward
and picked up one of the sheets, and
a metal pencil which lay beside it.
In a moment he was drawing on the
sheet some design which I could not
see, and this done he handed it to
the monster behind the desk. The
latter reached for it, inspected it
closely, and then raised his eyes to
Sarto Sen with something of sur¬
prize apparent even on his unhuman
features. He uttered a short com¬
mand, then, and instantly one of the
two guards motioned Sarto Sen
aside, while the other herded Hal
Kur, Nar Lon and me again toward
the door. As we passed out of the
room I glanced back and saw Sarto
Sen, still under the watchful eyes of
his guard, bending over the desk,
intensely interested, sketching an¬
other design.
Again we were in the anteroom, in
which there lounged still the guard
of armed globe-men. Instead of re¬
turning to the corridor through
which we had come, though, we
were conducted through a door on
the room’s opposite side, and passed
down a similar long hall, halted at
last by our guard before a low door
in its side. This he flung open, mo¬
tioning us to enter, and as the death¬
dealing disk in his grasp was trained
full upon iis we had no choice but
to obey, and passed into a square,
solid-walled little room which was
but half-lit by a few loopholes in
one of its sides. Behind us the door
slammed shut, its strong bolts clos¬
ing with a loud grating of metal.
We were prisoners—prisoners on the
planet of a distant star.
And now, looking back, it seems
to me that the days of imprisonment
which followed were the most ter¬
rible I have ever known. Action, no
matter of what sort, gives surcease
at least from mental agony, and it
was agony which we suffered there
in our little cell. For with the pass¬
ing of every day, every hour, the
crimson sun above was drawing
nearer toward our own by millions
of miles. And we, who alone had
power to find the cause of the red
sun’s deflection—we lay imprisoned
there in the city of the globe-men,
watching doom creep upon our uni¬
verse.
H our followed hour and day fol¬
lowed day, remorselessly, while
we lay there, hours and days which
we could measure only by the steady
circling of the sunlight that slanted
through our tiny windows. With
each night came cold, a bitter cold
that penetrated to our bones, and
for all the red splendor of the dy¬
ing sun above, the days were far
208
WEIRD TALES
from warm. Twice each day the
door opened and a guard cautiously
thrust in our food, which consisted
of a mushy mixture of cooked veg¬
etables and a bottle of red-tinged,
mineral-tasting water.
We spoke but little among our¬
selves, except to wonder as to the
whereabouts of Sarto Sen. We had
heard nothing of him since we had
left him and could not know even
whether our friend was alive or
dead. What our own fate was to
be we could not guess, nor, in fact,
was even that of much interest to
us. A few months longer and we
would meet death with all on this
planet, when Alto and our own sun
crashed together. Whether or not
we lived until then was hardly a
great matter.
Then, ten days after our capture,
there came the first break in the
monotony of our imprisonment.
There was a rattle of bolts at our
door; it swung open, and Sarto Sen
stepped inside. As the guards out¬
side closed the door my friend
sprang toward me, his face eager.
“You’re all right, Jan Tor?” he
exclaimed quickly. “They told me
you were unharmed, but I wor¬
ried-”
A phrase in his speech struck me.
“They told you?” I repeated.
‘‘They? ”
He nodded, his eyes holding mine.
“The globe-men,” he said, simply.
We stared at him, and he stepped
swiftly to the door, tried it and
found it fast, then came back and
sat down beside us.
“The globe-men,” he repeated
solemnly, “those children of Alto,
those creatures of hell, who have
turned their parent sun from its
course to send it crashing into, our
own, to wipe out our universe.”
At our exclamations of stunned
surprize he was silent, musing, his
eyes seeming to gaze out through
somber vistas of horror invisible to
us. When he spoke again it was
slowly, broodingly, as though he had
forgotten our presence.
“I have found what we came here
to learn,” he was saying; “have
discovered the reason for the deflec¬
tion of this star. Yet even before, I
guessed. ... If a star have planets
and those planets inhabitants—in¬
habitants of supreme science, su¬
preme power—would they not use
that science and that power to save
themselves from death, even though
it means death for another universe?
And that is what they have done,
and what I suspected before.
“It was that suspicion that stood
me in good stead when we were
examined there by the chief of the
globe-men. .1 had glimpsed on his
desk sheets with astronomical de¬
signs on them, and so I took a sheet
myself and drew on it a simple de¬
sign which he understood immedi :
ately, a design which represented
two suns colliding. It convinced
him of my knowledge, my intelli¬
gence, so that when he sent the rest
of you to this cell he retained me for
questioning. And for hours after¬
ward I drew other sketches, other
designs, while with gestures he
interrogated me concerning them.
It was slow, fumbling communica¬
tion, but it was communication, and
gradually we perfected a system of
signs and drawings by which we were
able to exchange ideas. And through
the succeeding days our sign-com¬
munication continued.
“I informed him, in this way, that
we were visitors from another star,
but I was too cautious to let him
know that we were children of the
sun into which Alto was soon to
crash. Instead I named Sirius as
our native star, explaining that we
had come from there in our vibra¬
tion-cruiser for purposes of explora¬
tion. It was the cruiser which inter¬
ested him most, evidently. The
scientists of the globe-people had
been examining it, he told me, and
he now asked me innumerable ques-
CRASHING SUNS
tions concerning its design and
operation. For though the globe-
men have gravity-screen ships, like
our own old-fashioned ones, in which
they can travel from planet to plan¬
et, they have no such star-cruisers
as this one of ours. Hence his ques¬
tions, which I evaded as well as I
could, turning the subject to the
coming collision of the two suns,
which I stated had been foreseen by
the astronomers of my own universe.
And as I had expected, my news of
the coming collision was no surprize
to him. For, as he casually ex¬
plained, that collision was being
engineered in fact by his own peo¬
ple, the globe-men, for their own
purposes.
“For ages, it seems, these globe-
men have dwelt on the planets of
Alto. First they had inhabited the
outermost planet, billions of miles
from Alto itself, but which was yet
warm enough for existence because
of their sun’s titanic size and im¬
mense heat. There they had risen
to greatness, had built up their sci¬
ence and civilization to undreamed¬
of heights. But as the ages passed,
that outermost world of theirs was
growing colder and colder, since
Alto, like all other suns, was slowly
but steadily cooling, shrinking and
dying, radiating less and less heat.
At last there came a time when the
planet of the globe-men was fast be¬
coming too cold for existence there,
and then their scientists stirred
themselves to find a way out.
Spurred on by necessity, they hit
upon the invention of the gravity
screen and with it constructed
their first interplanetary space-ships.
These they made in vast numbers,
and in them the globe-people moved
en masse to the next innermost plan¬
et, which still received enough heat
from Alto to support life. There
they settled, and there their civiliza¬
tion endured for further ages.
“But slowly, surely, their sun con¬
tinued to cool and die, and with the
terrible, machinelike inevitability of
natural laws there came a day when
again their world had grown too
cold for their existence. This time,
though, they had the remedy for
their situation at hand, and again
there took place a great migration
from their cold planet to a warmer
inner one. And so, as the ages
passed, they escaped extinction by
migrating from planet to planet,
moving ever sunward as their sun
waned in size and splendor, creeping
closer and closer toward its dying
fires.
“At last, though, after long ages,
there drew down toward them the
doom which they had averted for so
long. Alto was still shrinking, cool¬
ing, and now they were settled upon
its warmest, inmost planet, and had
no warmer world to which to flee.
But a short time longer, as they
measured time, and their planet
would become a frozen, lifeless
world, for their sun would inevitably
cool still further until it was one of
the countless dark stars, dead and
burned-out suns, which throng the
heavens. It seemed, indeed, that
this time there was to be no escape.
“But now there came forward a
party among them which advanced
a proposal of colossal proportions.
They pointed out that Alto was mov¬
ing steadily toward another sun, one
much the same size as their own but
flaming with heat and life, which it
would pass closely within a short,
time. But if, instead of passing
each other, the two suns should
meet, should crash into each other,
what then would be the result? It
would be, of course, that the collision
would form one new sun instead
of the former two—one titanic, flam¬
ing sun whose heat would be suffi¬
cient to support life on any planet
for countless ages. The inmost plan¬
ets of Alto’s system, and virtually
all the planets of the other sun’s
system, would be annihilated by the
collision, of course, would perish in
210
WEIRD TALES
that flaming shock of suns. But the
outermost planets of Alto, which lay
in orbits billions of miles from it,
would be safe enough and would
take up their orbits around this
great new sun in place of Alto. And
on these planets the globe-people
could exist for eons, supported by
the heat of the great new sun. It
was a perfect plan, and required
only that their own sun, Alto, be
swerved from its path just enough
to make it crash into the other sun
instead of passing it.
“To accomplish this, to swerve
their star from its course, the globe-
men made use of a simple physical
principle. You know that a round,
spinning body, moving across or
through any medium, changes its
direction if the rate of its spinning
is changed. A ball that rolls across
a smooth table without spinning at
all will move in a straight line. But
if the ball spins as it rolls it will
move in a curved line, the amount
and direction of curve depending
upon the amount and direction of
spin. Now their sun, which had ro¬
tated at the same rate for ages, had
rolled through the ether for ages on
the same great course, never swerv¬
ing. And so, they reasoned, if
their sun’s rate of spin or rotation
could be increased a little it would
curve aside a little from its accus¬
tomed course.
“The problem, then, was to in¬
crease their sun’s rate of spin, and
to accomplish this they gathered all
their science. A mighty tower was
erected over their city, on whose
great top-platform were placed
machines which could generate an
etheric ray or vibration of incon¬
ceivable power, a ray which could
be directed at will through the
great telescopelike projector which
they had provided fqr it.
“This done, they waited until-the
moment calculated by their astrono¬
mers, then aimed the great projector-
tube at the edge of their sun that
was rotating away from them, and
turned on the ray. This was the
crucial point of their scheme, for
now they were risking their very
universe. It was necessary for them
to increase their sun’s rate of spin
just enough to make it swerve aside,
but if the rate of spin were in¬
creased just a little too much it
would mean disaster, since when a
sun spins too fast it breaks up like
a great flywheel, splits into a double
star. It is that process, the process
of fission, which has formed the
countless double stars and bursted
suns in the heavens around us, since
each was only a single star or sun
which broke up because of its too-
great speed of rotation, or spin.
And the globe-men knew that it
would require but very little in¬
crease in their own sun’s rate of spin
to make it, too, split asunder. So
they watched with infinite care
while their brilliant ray stabbed up
toward the sun’s edge, and when,
under the terrific power of that
pushing ray, the star began to spin
faster, they at once turned off the
ray, which was used for a short
time only. But it had been effec¬
tive; for now, as their sun spun
faster, it began to swerve a little
from its usual course, and they
knew that now it would crash into
the other approaching sun instead
of passing it. So their end was
achieved, and so they began their
preparations for their great migra¬
tion out to Alto’s outermost planets,
a migration which would take place
just before the collision. And then
—we came.
“We came, and now we have dis¬
covered that for which we came, the
reason for Alto’s change in course.
For it was the science and will of
the globe-men that turned their sun
aside, that threatens now the anni¬
hilation of the Eight Worlds. Doom
presses upon them, and to escape
CRASHING SUNS
211
that doom they are destroying our
sun, our planets, our very uni¬
verse!”
4
I do not remember that any of us
spoke, when Sarto Sen’s voice
had ceased. And yet, stunned as
we were by the thing he had told us,
our kno-wledge was in some ways a
relief. We had discovered, at least,
what had swerved Alto from, its
course, and if science and intelli¬
gence alone could cause the sun to
veer from its path, science and in¬
telligence might steer it back into
that path.
When I said as much to Sarto Sen
his face lit up. “You are right, Jan
Tor!” he exclaimed. “There’s a
chance! And even as Mur Dak pre¬
dicted, that ehanee depends on us.
For if we can escape from here and
get back to the Eight Worlds, we
can come back with a greater force
and crush these globe-men, and use
their own force-projector to swerve
their sun out of its present path.”
“But why go baek to the Eight
Worlds?” objected Hal Kur. “Why
not get up to that platform, if we
escape, and use the projector our¬
selves?”
Sarto Sen shook his head. “It’s
impossible,” he told the big engi¬
neer. “If we eseape from here at
all it will be by night, for by day
the rooms and corridors outside are
thronged with globe-men. And by
night we could do nothing, for Alto,
the sun itself, would not then be in
the sky. Nor could we wait for its
rising, there on the platform, since
our escape would soon be discov¬
ered, and we should be attacked
there. Our only chance is to get
out of here by night, make our way
up to the platform, and make a dash
for our ship. If we can do that we
can flash back to our own universe
and get the help we need to crush
these globe-people.”
“But when shall we make the at¬
tempt?” I asked, and my heart
leaped at Sarto Sen’s answer. “To¬
night! The sooner we get out the
better. A few hours after dark
we’ll try it.”
He went on, then, to unfold his
plan for escape, and we listened in¬
tently, while big Hal Kur’s eyes
gleamed at the prospect of action.
Our plan was simple enough, and
likely enough to fail, we knew, but
it was our only chance. What course
we would follow after getting free
of our cell we did not even discuss.
There was nothing for it but to make
our break and trust to luck to bring
us through the thousand obstacles
that lay between us and the tower-
platform which held our ship.
The remaining hours of that day
were the longest I have ever experi¬
enced. The slanting shafts of light
from the loopholes seemed to move
across the room with infinite slow¬
ness, while we awaited impatiently
the coming of night. At last the
light-bars darkened, disappeared, as
the dying crimson sun sank beyond
the rim of the world outside. Dark¬
ness had descended on that world,
now. and here and there among the
buildings and streets of the weird
city outside flared points of red
light. Still we waited, until the
vague, half-heard sounds of soft
movement and thrumming speech
outside had lessened, ceased, until
at last the only sound to be heard
was an occasional shuffling move¬
ment of the guard outside the door.
Sarto Sen rose, making to us a
signal of readiness, and then threw
himself flat on the floor of the room’s
center. At the farther side of the
cell lay Hal Kur and Nar Lon, as
though sleeping, with a thick roll
of garments between them which
resembled another sleeping figure.
These preparations made, I stepped
to the door and stationed myself
directly inside it, to one side, my
heart pounding now as the moment
for action approached.
212
WEIRD TALES
All was ready, and seeing this,
Sarto Sen began his part. Lying
there on the floor he gave utterance
to a low, deep groan. There was
silence for a moment, and then an¬
other low moan arose from him, and
now I heard a shuffling movement
outside the door as the guard there
approached to listen. Again Sarto
Sen groaned, terribly, and after a
moment’s pause there came a rat¬
tling of bolts as the guard slid them
aside. I flattened myself back
against the wall, and in a second the
door opened.
Even in the darkness, glancing
sidewise, I could make out the round,
globular form of the guard, his eyes
peering into our cell and his fire-
disk held out in cautious readiness.
A moment he paused, peering at the
three dim figures lying across the
room; then, as if satisfied, turned
his eyes back upon Sarto Sen, at the
same moment taking a step inside
the door. And with a single bound
I was upon him.
O f all the fights in my career I
place that struggle there in the
darkness with our globe-man guard
as the most horrible. I had leaped
with the object of wresting the
deadly fire-disk from him before he
could make vise of it, and fortunate¬
ly the force of my spring had
knocked it from his grasp. His short,
thin arms clutched at me with surpriz¬
ing power, though, while the insect¬
like lower limbs grasped my own
and pulled me instantly to the floor.
A moment I rolled there in mad com¬
bat, striving to gain a hold on my
opponent’s smooth, round body, and
then a thing happened the memory
of which sickens me even now. For
as my hands clutched for a hold on
the sleek, cold, globular body, that
body suddenly collapsed beneath my
weight, breaking like a skinful of
water and spurting out a mass
of semi-liquid, jellylike substance
which flowed across the floor in a
shining, malodorous mass. Flesh¬
like as they were in appearance,
these creatures were but globular,
shells of ooze.
Sick to my very soul I rose to my
feet, looking wildly at the others,
who had rushed to aid me. There
had been no cry from our guard
during that moment of combat and
the silence around us was un¬
changed. Sarto Sen was already at
the door, peering down the corridor,
and in a moment we were out of the
cell and making our way stealthily
down the long hall. As we left the
cell, though, my foot struck against
something, and reaching down I
picked up the little fire-disk of our
guard. As we crept down the long
corridor I clutched it tightly in my
hand.
The long hall, dimly lit by a few
red flares set in its walls, seemed
quite deserted. Ahead, though,
shone a square of brighter light, and
we knew this to be the spot where
the corridor crossed the anteroom
of the guards. Nearer we crept to¬
ward it, ever more stealthily, until
at last we crouched at the edge of
the open doorway, staring into the
bright-lit anteroom.
There were but four of the globe-
men guards in it now, and three of
these were apparently sleeping, rest¬
ing with closed eyes on a long, low
seat against the wall. The other,
though, was moving restlessly about
the room, the deadly fire-disk in his
grasp ready for action. We must
cross this room, I knew, to reach
the hall of the great pillar, yet it
would mean instant death to attempt
it beneath the eyes of this creature.
A moment we crouched there, un¬
decided whether or not to chance
all in a rush for the one wakeful
guard, when the entire matter was
suddenly taken out of our hands.
The globe-man, in his pacing about
the room, had come within a few
feet of the doorway outside which
we crouched, and at that very mo-
CRASHING SUNS
213
ment the silence around us was
shattered by a sound which came
to my cars like the thunder of an
explosion. Hal Kur had sneezed!
With the sound the pacing guard
wheeled instantly and confronted
us, uttering a thrumming cry which
brought the other three instantly to
their feet. We were evenly matched,
four to four, and before they had
time to use their deadly disks we
were upon them. The next moment
was one of wild confusion, a whirl¬
ing of men and globular bodies
about the little room, a babel of
hoarse shouts and thrumming cries.
Clinging desperately to one of the
slippery creatures I had a momen¬
tary glimpse of Hal Kur raising one
of the guards bodily into the air and
crashing him down on the hard floor
like a smashed egg. Then a power¬
ful twist of my opponent flung me
sidewise out of the combat.
I staggered to my feet and saw
that one guard lay broken and dead
on the floor while the other three
had slipped from our clutches and
were retreating through the door¬
way by which we had come. Abrupt¬
ly they paused, and the arm of one
came up with a fire-disk trained full
upon us.
In that moment I became aware
of something in my hand to which I
had clung through all the melee,
something round and thin and
hard, with a raised button on its
side. Instinctively, entirely without
thought, I raised the thing toward
the three guards opposite, pressing
the button on its side. A little ball
of rosy fire seemed to leap out from
my hand with the action, flicking
sighingly through the air and
striking the group of globe-men
squarely. There was a roar of
flame, a moment’s flaring up of rag¬
ing pink fire, and then flame and
guards alike had vanished.
I turned, staggered with my
friends toward the door. From far
behind, now, we heard deep, thrum¬
ming cries, and «the shuffle of quick
feet. Our escape was discovered, we
knew, and our only chance lay in
reaching the great pillar and its
cage-lift before we were cut off, so
we raced on down the corridor with
our utmost speed, sparing no breath
for speech. The cries behind were
growing swiftly louder and nearer,
and somewhere near by there was a
sudden clamor of gongs. But now
we were bursting recklessly into the
great hall, finding it quite empty,
its deep shadows dispelled only by
a few feeble points of light. Into
the upper darkness loomed the vast
bulk of the great, slanting column,
and with the last of our strength we
reeled across the floor toward it.
The door in the pillar’s side was
open, and through it we tumbled
hastily into the little cage-elevator
inside. The clamor of pursuit was
growing rapidly in volume, now.
Frantically I fumbled with the studs
in the cage’s side, with which I had
seen our captors operate it. There
was a moment of heart-breaking de¬
lay, and then, just as the uproar of
pursuit seemed about to burst into
the great hall, a switch clicked be¬
neath my fingers and instantly our
cage was shooting up the shaft with
tremendous speed, toward the plat¬
form above.
A moment of this thundering
progress and then the car slowed,
stopped. We were in absolute dark¬
ness, but before sliding aside the sec¬
tion of platform over us I whispered
tensely to the others. “There will
be guards on the platform,” I told
them, “but we must make away
with them at once and get to the
ship. It’s our only chance, for there
must be cage-lifts in the other pil¬
lars too, and they’ll come up those
after us. ’ ’
With the words I touched the
lever which swung aside the section
of floor above us, and instantly it
slid back with a metallic jarring
sound that made my heart stand
214
WEIRD TALE'S
still. There was no sound of alarm,
though, from above, so after a mo¬
ment of tense waiting we rose si¬
lently from the cage and stepped
out upon the platform itself.
We were standing near the edge
of the platform, which was partly
illuminated by splashes of ruddy
light from a few flares suspended
over it. Far below in the darkness
lay the city of the globe-men, out¬
lined only by a sparse peppering of
twinkling crimson lights. Above
stretched the splendid, star-jeweled
skies, in which I could discern the
brilliant yellow orb that was the sun
of the Eight Worlds. And now I
turned my attention back to the
platform, and glancing beyond the
dark, enigmatic mechanisms which
loomed around us, I saw the long,
gleaming bulk of our cruiser, lying
still in the clear space where it had
fallen. Beside it a suspended flare
poured down its red light, and under
that light were gathered three of
the globe-men, examining intently
some small mechanism on the floor.
I wondered, momentarily, whether
these creatures had yet discovered
the secret of our cruiser’s design
and operation, and then forgot my
wonder as we began to creep stealth¬
ily toward them. As we crawled
past a little heap of short, thick
metal bars, each of us grasped one,
and then crept on again. In a mo¬
ment we were within a dozen paces
of the unsuspecting globe-men, and
at once we sprang to our feet and
charged down upon them with up¬
lifted maces.
So unexpected and so swift was
oar attack that the three had time
only to turn toward us-, half-raising
their fire-disks, and then our heavy
clubs had crashed down through
their round, soft bodies, sending
them to the floor in a sprawling,
oozing mass. We dropped our weap¬
ons and sprang toward the- cruiser.
Its lower door was open, and
instantly we were inside it. At
once Sarto Sen sprang up the
stair toward the conning-tower, while
Hal Kur and Nar Lon raeed
into the generator-room. I paused
to slam shut the heavy door, its
closing automatically starting the
throbbing oxygen pumps, and- then
hastened up the stair also. Even as
I did so there began the familiar
humming of the vibration-genera¬
tors, droning out with swiftly gath¬
ering power. And now I had reached
the conning-tower, where Sarto Sen
was working swiftly with the con¬
trols.
At the moment that I burst into
the little room there came a sudden
harsh grating of metal from outside,
and then a score of high-pitched,
thrumming cries. I sprang to the
window, and there, across the red-
lit platform, a mass of dark, globu¬
lar figures had suddenly poured up
onto the platform’s surface, from
another of its pillar-lifts. They ran
toward us, heard the humming of
the cruiser’s generators, and then
stopped short. Their fire-disks
swept up and a dozen balls of the
destroying flame leapt toward us.
But at the moment that they did so
there was a swift clicking of switch¬
es beneath the hands of Sarto Sen,
a sudden roar of wind, and then the
red-lit platform and all on it had
vanished from sight as our ship
flashed out again into the void of
space.
The stupendous events that followed the return to the Solar System
and the tremendous cataclysm that ensued will be narrated in
the thrilling chapters that bring this story to a con¬
clusion in next month's WEIRD TALES .
Thenft(Nln-the-6REE(M-C0AT-
COLTER?
G rant thorpe lounged
comfortably in a big easy
chair and looked across at
Myron Tobin, his host. They two
were alone in the big library of To¬
bin’s palatial home, smoking a so¬
ciable cigar and drinking an after-
dinner cocktail before the massive
fireplace. Tobin saw the unveiled
curiosity in the gray eyes of Grant
Thorpe, and he had an idea he knew
the cause of it. But he said nothing.
He turned his gaze on the leaping
flames in the grate and continued
smoking in silence. Thorpe was
bluntly outspoken. When his curiosity
began to ride him hard enough he
would come out with it baldly.
Thorpe was mulling over in his
mind the thing that had aroused his
curiosity. There had been a large
and impressive reception in Tobin ’&
huge house that evening, and after
the departure of the guests Thorpe
and his host had gravitated naturally
to the library with their liquor and
cigars. The two men had been
friends for twenty years, but for
eight years they had seen nothing of
each other. When they had parted
eight years before, Thorpe had gone
to Egypt on a little private business
of his own. He had left the United
States harboring not a little concern
over his old friend Myron Tobin.
Tobin, at that time, was decidedly
down on his luck, which was nothing
at all unusual for Tobin. He hadn’t
a cent in the world, and he had as
little prospect for the future as he
215
216
WEIRD TALES
had money. He had ever been very
much of a dreamer, cherishing the
hope of sometime stumbling upon a
formula, concerning no matter what,
that would bring him wealth, set the
world by the ears and make him fa¬
mous. He had fiddled along in¬
effectually with chemicals and metals,
accomplishing precisely nothing.
Thorpe had bade him good-bye rather
sadly. He liked Tobin. He hated
leaving him poverty-stricken with
hunger, lean with futile hopes, but
too stubbornly wedded to his dreams
to desert them for any more practical
method of achieving wealth and fame.
But he knew Tobin. So he shook his
hand, sighed, shrugged and went on
his way.
And eight years later Thorpe re¬
turned from Egypt, to find Tobin as
wealthy and famous as he had ever
painted himself in his wildest visions.
Tobin had found his formula, and it
had set the world by the ears right
enough. No one knew what it was,
and no one was ever likely to know.
It was guarded rigidly. But it had
brought him fabulous wealth, and the
very secrecy attached to it had served
to thrust Tobin’s name willy-nilly
into the notice of the world.
But it was nothing of this that had
aroused Thorpe’s curiosity. That
which had caught and held Thorpe’s
attention and puzzled him to the
point of irritation was a man. Tobin
had a host of moneyed and influential
friends. The house had been full of
them that evening. But among them,
moving about and making himself at
home with an ease of manner that
was distinctly noticeable, was the
mysterious man who had held
Thorpe’s eye and baffled his brain.
He was a small man, with a thin,
dried-up body and a great knob of a
head as ugly and repellant as the
head of a mummy. His long, narrow
eyes, as hard as granite and as gray,
seemed to be everywhere at once. His
lank, drab hair fell over his forehead
continually, in a peculiarly offensive
fashion. He was conspicuous in the
throng of corx*ectly dressed men and
women for the fact that he wore a
bright green coat that fell to his
knees. Thorpe could not have told
what other garments clothed the
man. Shirt, vest, trousers and shoes
were rendered unworthy of notice by
that spotted and worn vivid green
coat.
The guests paid no attention to
him, and he paid none to them.
Thorpe had seen a few people ad¬
dress politely perfunctory remarks
to him. He had made no reply; in
faet, he did not speak at all. He
moved in and about among the rest
of the guests with an oddly propri¬
etary manner, as though he belonged
there. He gazed upon the magnif¬
icent appointments of the room, the
statuary, the murals on the walls,
the great shining grand piano, with
an air of personal pride in them.
But the most conspicuous thing
about him was his absorption in
Tobin’s strinkingly beautiful wife.
Whenever his long, hard eyes fell
upon her, his ugly face lit with a
passion of worship as intense as it
was unmistakable. Thorpe frowned
upon it, inwardly. He wondered if
it were possible that Tobin was un¬
aware of the violent affection lavished
upon his wife by the man in the
green coat. But no, he couldn’t be.
Impossible. And Thorpe resented it.
It was unlike Myron Tobin to allow
anything like that to be so blatantly
paraded before his guests and under
his eyes. There was something hid¬
den about it that made Thorpe un¬
easy. He moved restlessly in the
chair and asked bluntly:
“Who is the man in the green
coat?”
Tobin had been waiting for that
question. He knew the explanation
would have to come to Thorpe. That
he conceded, in view of their years-
long close friendship. So far as any¬
one else was concerned, those who
didn’t like the man in the green coat
THE MAN IN THE GREEN COAT
217
could go to the devil. And they
could stay away from Tobin’s house.
His guests and associates had long
since learned to tacitly ignore the
man’s presence. But Thorpe was
different. Tobin wanted Thorpe to
know.
“Have you ever looked up the
word ‘gratitude’ in the dictionary,
Grant?” Tobin asked softly. “To
the man in the green coat I owe
everything I am and have today. He
comes and goes as he will. I never
know when to expect him, never can
tell when he may suddenly walk in
and greet me Avith that flashing smile
of his. Did you notice his smile?
How it changes and softens his face?
He knows hoAv welcome he is; knows
that no matter who is here, no matter
what I am doing or what the hour,
the door is always open to him and
his place in my home unquestioned
and assured fom*er. You may have
noted, too, that he never speaks. He
is dumb.
‘ ‘ A fter you left the United States
for Egypt, I was deucedly down
in the mouth. Not new for me, eh?
But it was worse than ever with you
gone. Nothing seemed to go right.
Not that anything ever had. But
then, I Avas always expecting it to,
and your companionship had always
helped me to keep my own faith. I
got moody when I didn’t have you to
spill all my grief to any more. T
took to going out by myself for long
walks in the Avoods. I didn’t knoAV
then Avhat was directing me. I do
now. So will you before I’m done
talking.
“The way I went habitually led
down an old road Avinding off into
the trees and seemingly going no-
Avhcre. Every time I Avent I followed
it a little farther. And I came finally
one day to a clearing in the depth of
the forest, surrounding an old de¬
serted house. I stopped short in
surprize. Yon know hoAv old deserted
houses have ahvays held a fascination
for me. I stood and stared at this
one. It Avas an ancient building,
almost eoA r ered Avith vines, half hid¬
den under huge old elm trees. But
it Avas still in a fair state of preserva¬
tion, although I could see it had been
abandoned for a long time. Its doors
and windows Avere still intact, and
not a pane was broken.
“There was an air of mystery
about it. Perhaps there is always
that about deserted houses. I guess
there is. But there was a different
tone here. The mystery in the air
was sinister, Avaming. I didn’t just
like it. Yet I Avas drawn to it. I
stood there trying to analyze that
sinister atmosphere. It Avas so poav-
erful as to be almost tangible. It
seemed to pervade even the trees.
Then I noted an odd tiling. The
place lacked that shroud of mold, of
disintegration and decay that seems
indigenous to abandoned habitations.
Everything was flourishing there.
‘ ‘ The trees Avere monstrous,
healthy and green. The AA r eeds and
grass that had claimed the clearing,
had grown Avildly over eA r erything,
were virile, alive. There could never
have been flowers in that place, for
there were none left to tell the tale,
and they couldn’t haA'e died there.
You couldn’t imagine anything dying
there. Nothing Avas tumbled down
but the old picket fence enclosing
house, yard and elms. Nothing was
out of place but the old gate drag¬
ging in the rank Aveeds on one rusty
hinge.
“Drawn by something irresistible
—curiosity, interest; call it what you
will, it was stronger than I was—I
turned in the gate and approached
the house. I Avent up on the porch
and tried the front door. It was
locked. I tried the two front Avin-
dows. They were locked also. I
descended from the porch and started
around the house, making my way
with difficulty through the grass and
wild vines. Every Avindow and door
218
WEIRD TALES
opening into the house was locked,
and I could see nothing of the inte¬
rior through the thick folds of the
curtains drawn close across the win¬
dows and the dusty panes.
“I decided I might as well leave
with my curiosity unsatisfied, and
turned to go, when I noticed an odd
enclosure in the yard quite a way to
the rear of the house. It, too, was
surrounded by a picket fence, but this
fence was in better repair than the
other. It was plain to be seen that
it had been put up years later than
the fence surrounding the yard. The
space it enclosed was perhaps eight
by ten feet, and was hidden from me
at that distance by brush and vines.
“My interest aroused afresh, I
walked toward it. And when I
reached that fence I stopped a good
deal shorter than I had done when I
first sighted the house, for squarely
in the center of that enclosure was a
grave. It had been there a long
time, and I couldn’t help thinking to
myself that it seemed decidedly out
of place. It simply wasn’t conceiv¬
able that anything should die there.
Yet, there was the grave. The earth
was sunken in on top, and the plain
granite headstone was stained and
covered with moss. I could see there
was some kind of inscription on the
stone, but the moss rendered it il¬
legible. The gate in this fence hung
squarely. I passed through it, leaned
over the stone and scraped the moss
away. I read this:
Here lies the body of Lona Bennares.
Nobody knows and nobody cares.
“That inscription itself was odd
enough to arrest attention. But still
more arresting was the fact that the
two lines had not been placed there
by the same hand. The first line was in
script, beautifully chiseled by expert
fingers. The second line had been
crudely printed, and had been done
with some blunt and unsuitable in¬
strument. I scraped the moss from
the entire face of the stone, but noth¬
ing else was there. No date—nothing.
Only those two strange lines. I stood
there puzzling over it for a long
time. But conjecture was useless. I
could make nothing of it, of course,
and I turned for the second time to
go away. But as I rounded the cor¬
ner of the house I halted in my
tracks.
“Somebody was coming in the
front gate. It was the man in the
green coat. He saw me standing
there, gave me a sharp, scrutinizing
look, as though he were measuring
me, then averted his eyes and walked
up the steps to the front porch. He
took a key from his pocket, unlocked
the door and went in, leaving it open
behind him. Actuated by a curiosity
whose control was far beyond my
capacity, I followed him up the steps
and peered through the door at him.
“To my astonishment the house
was fully furnished. Carpets on the
floor and pictures on the walls were
exactly now as they had been left.
The chairs scattered about were in
the careless array of chairs lately
used. Yet dust was over everything.
It was a long time since anyone had
lived there. The thought struck me
that the whole place had the look of
having been forsaken hurriedly, at
the instigation of some compelling
impulse—or fear. I wondered if the
house and grounds belonged to the
man in the green coat. He certainly
acted as though they did.
“He must have known I was
watching him, I thought, but he paid
no attention to me. He had removed
some small books from his pocket.
Note-books they were. He selected
from them one with a mottled gray
cover, and went to an old desk in a
comer of the room. He opened the
desk, removed some faded papers
from its central drawer, sat down at
the table by the window and began
to compare the papers with notes in
the gray book. He was after some
specific thing, and it didn’t take him
long to find it. He gave a little nod
THE MAN IN THE GREEN COAT
219
of satisfaction, got to his feet, re¬
placed the papers in the desk, closed
it and thrust the note-book back into
his pocket with the others. Then he
came briskly toward the door.
‘ 1 1 made no attempt to conceal my¬
self. I wanted him to see me. I
wanted to force him to speak to me.
I stepped aside as he emerged from
the house and paused to lock the door
behind him. He glanced at me but
made no offer to speak. My curiosity
had me in a strangle-hold by this
time, and I wasn’t going to let him
get away from me so easily.
“ ‘How do you do?’ I said politely.
“Without looking at me, he pulled
one of the books from his pocket, tore
out a page, scribbled something on it,
thrust the paper abruptly into my
hand and hurried down the steps.
Completely mystified and astonished,
I looked at the sheet of note-paper.
On it he had written, ‘I am dumb.
How do you do?’
“In spite of myself I grinned.
Evidently my presence there was of
no concern to him. I chuckled as I
crumpled the paper in my hand and
thrust it into my pocket. But I was
enormously curious still, and I knew
that my curiosity would never let me
rest until I learned what important
notes the man in the green coat kept
hidden in that old desk in that de¬
serted house out in the trees, miles
from anywhere. I turned to glance
after the man in the green coat. He
was just disappearing down the old
road beyond the picket fence.
a sneaking feeling of med-
* ^ dling in something that was
none of my business, I decided to go
to the nearest village and see what I
could find out about that foi’saken
house and the man in the green coat.
I lost no time in getting there. There
is always one man in a small village
who is very apt to know more about
everybody in the village than they
themselves know — the postmaster.
Acting on that premise I headed for
the dinky post-office, housed in a
little one-story frame building down
the main street. Besides being the
post-office, it was drug store, candy
store and grocery store combined, and
it was presided over by a tall, lank
individual with a cadaverous face
and deep-set near-sighted eyes. He
greeted me with the curiosity and
interest a stranger is accorded in a
small village and asked me what I
would have. I said I was hungry
from a long walk, which was pretty
much the truth, and would take some
cheese and crackers and eat them
there if lie didn’t mind. He was
loquacious enough, and was only too
glad to have someone about whom he
could talk to a standstill.
“I mentioned casually that it was
just possible I might buy a place in
the village and come to live there—
if I found the villagers to my fancy.
That was enough to launch him into
the family history of every inhab¬
itant, save one. He did not mention
anyone by the name of Bcnnares. I
had to get him started in that direc¬
tion somehow, so I said I had beeu
hilling about over the countryside to
sec how it would suit me. From
which it was easy to lead up to the
deserted house in the woods.
‘ ‘ The postmaster glanced at me
with a slightly startled expression,
then he said rather shortly, ‘That’s
a pretty good place to stay away
from, Mister. You couldn’t hire a
soul in this town to set foot in that
yard. That place was owned by Sam
Bennares some years ago, and still is
for all I know. I’m certain nobody
else wants it. Sam deserted it after
his girl Lona died.’
“He halted a moment, as though
not having any intention to let his
tongue run away with him. He shot
me a shrewd, appraising glance, as
though wondering how much he’d
better tell. I asked him half jesting¬
ly if the place was haunted. That
220
WEIRD TALES
fired his pride in what was perhaps
the village’s one authentic legend. He
answered darkly, trying to be very
mysterious.
“ ‘It’s haunted, right enough, but
not by the spirit of Lona Bennares.
By another kind of spirit, Mister.
The spirit of something hidden and
ugly. Lona died under funny cir¬
cumstances.’
“He halted again, and after wait¬
ing patiently for a moment, I prod¬
ded him on.
“ ‘Yes? How so?” I asked. ‘What
was the cause of her death ? ’
“ ‘That’s what nobody knows.’
The postmaster scowled and leaned
toward me confidentially. ‘ There
was something mysterious and secre¬
tive about it, Mister. Sam was a
doctor, and it Avas him that tended
her and him what signed the death
report. She died uncommon sudden,
that’s what. One day we seen her
here on the street as live as anybody,
and the next day she was dead. Sam
give out her funeral notice, but he
kept the coffin closed and wouldn’t
let nobody see the body. Then, in¬
stead of burying her in the church¬
yard by her mother as was right and
proper, he got a permit and buried
her in his own back yard. There
wasn’t a thing to which we could
rightly point a finger and lay no sus¬
picion of foul work on anybody.
“ ‘But all of us begun to remember
queer things. We remembered that
for the last week or two Lona had
acted like she was scared of some¬
thing. And we remembered, too,
that when she was in town the day
before she died she wasn’t ailing.
No sir, not none. She was just as
well as she’d ever been. Sam put up
a picket fence around her grave. Next
thing we knew, Sam was gone. And
he never come back, only once a year.
Folks think he comes to visit the
grave, that there’s something on his
conscience. He never has nothing to
say to anybody, and he always goes
right away again. He ain’t showed
up lately, though. Not for about
three years.’
“ ‘Yes, I think I’ve seen him,’ I
put in. ‘He wears a bright green
coat, doesn’t he?’
“ ‘No.’ The postmaster stared at
me, an odd look in his near-sighted
eyes. ‘So you seen him, eh, Mister?
H’m, he’s as bad as Sam. The fellow
that wears the green coat is an in¬
ventor, an old crony of Sam’s. Awful
queer fellow he is. He lived there
with Sam for about a year before
Lona died so sudden. Folks always
thought he was pretty much in love
with Lona, but he was ugly as sin and
you couldn’t imagine her as fancying
the man in the green coat. Lona Avas
right pretty. When Sam went away,
the felloAv in the green coat Avent
Avith him. Folks have seen him
around these parts once in every feAV
months ever since. But what him
and Sam find so interesting around
that old house, unless it’s Lona’s
grave, is more than anybody can
figure.
“ ‘I’m telling you, Mister, there’s
something mighty queer about the
Avhole business. If one of them two
men didn’t have something to do
with Lona’s death, I’m a poor guess-
er. One of them made away Avith
her, that’s what everybody thinks.
But they’s no way to prove it. Look
here, Mister. If that girl died all
right and proper, and they wasn’t
nothing ugly about it, Avhy Avouldn’t
Sam open the coffin? Why Avouldn’t,
he let nobody see her? And if he
had any good reason for not letting
nobody see her, why didn’t he come
out with it? But, no, sir, nothing
like that. Sam just refused to let
anybody look at the body and shut
up like a clam, and he looked so
funny and mad-like that everybody
was afraid to ask him any questions.
Even I was. And I’m mighty cur’us,
Mister. When I’m afraid to ask any¬
body questions, you can bet there’s
something wrong. ’
THE MAN IN THE GREEN COAT
221
“• ‘Yes, I imagine so.’ I returned
dryly. ‘It certainly does look as
though you had a real first-class mys¬
tery here. But if I decide to buy in
the village, I assure you your mys¬
tery will not deter me in the least. ’
“I had finished my crackers and
cheese. I had gotten from the post¬
master about all the information I
was likely to get, so I bade him good¬
bye and took my leave.
“'V7'ou can easily see that my curios-
* ity, already uncomfortably ac¬
tive, would now be rendered almost
unbearable. I simply had to find out
why those two men kept coming back
to that old house, and what they were
after. And, if possible, which of
them had killed the girl, if the post¬
master was right in his sinister in¬
sinuation. I watched the house in
the woods for several days, intending
to spy upon the man in the green
coat and follow him into the house.
I had no idea what I would do when I
got there. I was simply determined
to get into that house. But the man
in the green coat did not reappear,
and I couldn’t stand it any longer.
I took a bunch of pass keys and tried
the front door. To mv surprize,
though I don’t know why I should
have been surprized, I had no trouble
turning the lock.
“I entered the house, locked the
door behind me and went directly to
the old desk. I knew exactly which
drawer he had opened, and I pulled
it out. There lay the papers which
the man in the green coat had been
comparing in his note-book. I picked
them up with a good deal of eager¬
ness.
“What do you think I found,
Grant? You’d never guess in a mil¬
lion years. I found a formula for
transmuting all base metal to gold—
everything from lead to steel. I read
it over carefully. It was written in
a stilted hand, and it did not bear the
name of any person. But it was
easily legible, and I studied it min¬
utely with growing interest. So this
was the thing that brought those two
men back to the old house so persist¬
ently. Had it anything to do with
the strange death of Lona Bennares?
I decided right then and there to
determine just what value the
formula had; I copied it in a note¬
book of my own, replaced the papers
in the desk drawer exactly as I had
found them, and let myself out of the
house.
“For the next two weeks I spent
every waking minute experimenting
with that formula. I tried it on a
half-dozen metals, but the result was
always the same. It transmuted the
metal all right, to some strange com¬
position infinitely finer, of a dirty
greenish yellow—but not to gold.
Then, unexpectedly, what little gray
matter I have got on the job and I
saw what was wrong. The formula
lacked one important ingredient. I
sat in my chair scowling at it, won¬
dering if there were some other copy
of that formula more complete. Pei*-
haps all the formula papers worked
out by the man in the green coat were
not in that one drawer. I kicked
myself for an ass, for not going
through the whole desk, but I con¬
soled myself with the knowledge that
I could easily enough go back to the
house the next day.
“And I guess I don’t need to tell
you that I was there as soon as it be¬
came daylight. I seai’ched that old
desk from top to bottom, but there
were no other papers in it concerning
the formula. I slammed all the
drawers shut, peevishly, and stood
there scowling at the old desk, won¬
dering if that one lacking ingredient
w r as hidden somewhere in the house.
If so, was that the thing the two men
were trying to find? Which one of
them hid it, and which knew v T here
it was? Or had the man who had
hidden it forgotten where he put it?
“I started at the plausibility of a
sudden thought. Maybe it was the
222
WEIRD TALES
girl who had hidden it. The post¬
master said the ugly little inventor
had been in love with her, and that
she was right pretty. I could picture
her rather easily. A light-headed,
vain little small-town belle, who
might find the attention of the man
in the green eoat very obnoxious. I
could picture her spying upon the
inventor, and upon her father who
inevitably would have become inter¬
ested in the marvelous formula con¬
cocted by his old crony. I could see
her gloating over the discovery of
that one important ingredient which
the inventor doubtlessly had omitted
purposely from the written formula.
His reason for omitting it -would be
very clear. He was taking no chances
of anyone’s stealing that formula, not
even trusting his old friend and host.
"I could see Sam Bennares spying,
too, tlying to discover -where the man
in the green eoat kept notes on that
missing ingredient. I visioned the
girl locating its hiding-place, and
changing the notes to some place she
alone knew’, then by a sly word here
and there setting the two men at each
other, causing the inventor to suspect
that her father had stolen the notes,
egging her father to indignant denial.
And her motives, also, would be very
clear. A right pretty small-town
belle would go farther than that to
engineer a quarrel between the two
men, inveigle her father into order¬
ing the inventor out of his house,
and so rid herself of the presence of
a man whose attentions were offensive
to her. And it might very well have
been that she had failed in her de¬
sign, drawn their combined anger
down on herself, and paid for her
meddling with her life.
“Having settled this in my own
mind as being a very reasonable
hypothesis, I began trying to conjec¬
ture as to what would be the most
likely place for the girl herself to
hide the notes. But there I was
baffled. My understanding of women
was precisely nil. About the only
thing I could do was search the en¬
tire house. I had just decided to
give the whole day to that search,
and began it immediately, when I
heard the door open behind me.
“Startled, I whirled to face the
door. There stood the man in the
green coat.
“/^ddly enough, he did not seem
at all surprized to find mo
there. He smiled slightly, that strange
smile that so lights his ugly face, and
I had an uncomfortable feeling that
he had been spying upon me. That
he had known I was there all the
time. I’ll go farther than that. J
felt that for some obscure reason he
had been Avaiting and Avatching, hop¬
ing that my curiosity would bring
me back there.
“He stood and eyed me for a
moment, then abruptly advanced to
the table. Then, AA’hile I stood star¬
ing at him inanely, he took out one
of his note-books, rapidly seribbled
something on a page, tore out the
page, laid it on the table, turned
around and walked out of the house.
I stood gazing after him, wondering
what the deuce he was up to, then
stepped over to the table and looked
at the scribbled message. And I felt
my eyes nearly pop out of my head.
This is what he had written:
Lona Bennares is not dead. Buried in
that grave is a hundred thousand dollars
gold, transmuted from lead. Leave it alone.
Lona was put out of the way by her father.
The story is too long to tell here. I have
been waiting and watching for someone
like you. If you Avill seek Lona out, and
fiee her from her living death in the asylum
at AVentworth, I will give you the com¬
plete formula for transmuting base metal
to gold. You will thereby become wealthy,
with an absolutely unlimited supply, and
at your death will add to the world’s
scientific discoveries. I must request that
you keep the formula secret as long as you
live. Too common knowledge of it would be
disastrous. No answer is necessary. I will
be watching to see what you do.
“Well, you may be able to imagine
faintly how I felt. If the queer old
THE MAN IN THE GREEN COAT
223
inventor had told the truth, I was a
mile off in my hypothesis. If there
was a hundred thousand dollars
worth of transmuted gold in that
grave, no wonder both of the two
men kept watch of that house. But
why in the devil did Bennares go to
such extremes to make it appear that
the girl had died, to put her out of
the way and bury that gold, repre¬
senting it as her body ? And why did
the inventor let him get away with
it? And why should he want to put
the girl out of the way, anyhow? The
mysterious muddle was getting worse
every minute, and I decided to waste
no more time in vague hypotheses. I
began to wonder what I was going to
do about that note.
“I read it again and roamed about
the room scowling and thinking it
over. For a moment, I will admit, I
toyed with the idea of digging that
hundred thousand dollars out of that
grave and ducking out of the coun¬
try, but on second thought was
ashamed of myself for it. If the
queer old crank in the green coat was
telling the truth, and if he really had
completed and proved that formula,
and if he would, keep his word and
turn it over to me for merely finding
some way of releasing the girl, there
was no question as to the course I
should pursue. If! But what the
devil would he do with the girl,
granted that she was in the asylum,
alive and well, and I could succeed
in getting her out? That, however,
was none of my business. But if he
really had such a formula, why pass
it on to me? Of course, he would
have it, too, and he demanded that I
keep it. secret. I figured he must
think a lot of that girl.
“Well, of course, it was inevitable
that I should take him up. The pros¬
pect of owning that formula, of
reaching all in a breath my lifelong
desire, was too great a temptation. I
got out of there, carrying the note
in my pocket, and seeing that the
house was securely locked behind me.
‘‘ 1X7entworth was little less than
W a hundred miles away. I was
there before noon the next day. I
went directly to the asylum, repre¬
senting myself as a visitor, but ad¬
mitting confidentially to the superin¬
tendent that I was looking for an old
friend who had disappeared seven
years ago. Lona Bennares had been
'dead’ for seven years. The superin¬
tendent told me he . had but three in¬
mates who had been there that exact
length of time, two women and a
man. The man wasn’t to be con¬
sidered, and the first of the two
women to which he took me was
immediately eliminated by her white
hair and seventy years of age. The
moment I laid eyes on the other
woman, I began to put come credence
in what had been said by the man
in the green coat. I thought of what
the postmaster had said—that she was
a right pretty girl. I would have
liked to knock him down. And yet
she was exactly the type that would
be so designated by a small-town
fellow with no standards by which to
judge.
“I suppose that nothing short of
yellow hair, doll features and china
blue eyes could have appealed to him
as beauty. Who could have expected
him to realize any proper apprecia¬
tion of her tall, erect, goddesslike
figure? Of her high-bred, medieval
features? Features that, with the
high rounded forehead, deep-set black
eyes, slender Roman nose, finely
curved mouth and pointed chin above
the long, slim neck, would have driven
Raphael post-haste to his palette and
brushes. No wonder the man in the
green coat had been mad about her.
He, at least, was not without stand¬
ards. But I looked in her face, and
temporarily I was as dumb as the in¬
ventor. What should I say to her,
and how should I begin? The super¬
intendent addressed her as Miss
Jane, and told her that I was mere¬
ly one of their infrequent visitors.
She looked at me intently, holding
224
WEIRD TALES
herself in a kind of calm dignity and
with an inscrutable expression wor¬
thy of the Mona Lisa. But very
clearly in her eyes I saw a sadness, a
deep, settled despair. Whether or
not she was Lona Bennares, she was
obviously a very beautiful woman of
about my own age, without hope,
without desire to live. The resigna¬
tion mingling with the despair in her
deep eyes vouched for the fact that
rebellion had long since withered and
died within her.
‘ ‘ I turned abruptly to the superin¬
tendent and asked to be allowed to
talk to her alone. He hemmed and
hawed a bit, stared first at her, then
at me, protested that it was somewhat
irregular, but finally acceded grudg¬
ingly to my request. He said, as
though to warn me that any collusion
with her would be impossible, that she
was dumb, and could answer no ques¬
tions I might intend to ask her. Then
he went out and left, me alone with
her. Dumb—dumb! Why was every¬
body dumb ? She stood looking at me
with a slight expectancy, and I was
fudging around for some diplomatic
opening. But I could find none.
“Finally I blurted out, baldly:
‘Are you Lona Bennares?’
“There was no perceptible change
of expression on her face, but I felt
that something moved in her eyes. I
stepped closer to her and lowered my
voice.
“ ‘Listen,’ I said. ‘I am here as a
friend. I had not heard that you
were dumb. Are you?’
“Still there was no change of ex¬
pression. The black eyes stared back
at me unwinking. But now I was
certain of the expectancy there, and
it was growing. I went on swiftly.
“ ‘If you are Lona Bennares, and
can signal to me, and will do so, in
answer to my questions, it may be
that I can get you out of here,’ I said.
‘I have not come impelled in any way
by curiosity, nor with the intent to
meddle in your affairs. I come only
to be of assistance, if that assistance
is desired. I was sent by the man in
the green coat.’
“And then indeed did her expres¬
sion change, so suddenly that it
startled me. Her eyes widened,
incredulously, mirroring an unmis¬
takable flash of fear. She backed
from me abruptly, staring, then sud¬
denly dropped into the one chair in
that cell-like room, and burst into
tears.
“I was utterly nonplussed. Had
I done the wrong thing in mentioning
him ? That swift fear in her eyes was
a thing about which there could be no
doubt. I wondered, with a startled
sense of uneasiness, if it were the
man in the green coat who was re¬
sponsible for her being here. Yet if
that were so, what Avas it that drove
him iioav to seeking her release ? And
I pondered over something that had
puzzled me before. Why didn't he
try to accomplish her release himself?
But I had no time to be standing
there wasting precious moments in
hopeless conjecture. I knew well
enough that the superintendent would
not leave me alone Avith her any too
long. So I stepped closer and ven¬
tured to lay a sympathetic hand on
her shoulder.
“ ‘Please listen,’ I urged, striving
to draw her attention. ‘What is it
you fear? I will be frank Avith you.
I realize I am an utter stranger, but
you have no cause to doubt my mo¬
tives in seeking you out. I repeat,
I come as a friend. I don’t knoAV
any too much about this affair my¬
self, but I will tell you Avhat I do
know, since I believe it is your right.
I happened to make the acquaintance
of the man in the green coat. He
told me about you, and claimed that
your father had put you here to get
you out of the Avay. He offered me
a pretty big reward if I would come
here and get you out. That is all
there is to it. I am here. I know
nothing more, nor do I need to know.
If you are unjustly incarcerated in
this place, any man with a grain of
THE MAN IN THE GREEN COAT
225
humanity would do his utmost to se¬
cure your release, reward or no re¬
ward. As a matter of fact, having
been of service to you would be re¬
ward enough. There, I have laid my
cards on the table. I can do nothing
more unless you choose to co-operate
with me.’
“She had controlled her tears, but
that was the only change in her atti¬
tude. She still sat with her head
bowed in her hands, not paying the
least attention to the touch of my fin¬
gers on her shoulder. Feeling un¬
easy, baffled, I dropped my hand,
stepped back a pace and stood look¬
ing down at her.
“Was it possible after all that she
was mad" Was the man in the green
coat mad? Was I mad? Was the
whole world mad? I began to sus¬
pect it. Yet hers were not the eyes
of a mad woman. I frowned, an¬
noyed at the time that was passing,
wondering what step to take next.
Then she suddenly raised her head
and looked at me. No, those were
not the eyes of a mad woman. Many
expressions mingled there for me to
read. Confusion, wonder, grief, hope,
suspicion and fear—but not madness.
And then to my utter astonishment
she spoke.
“ ‘No, I am not dumb—any more.
I am Lona Bennares, yes. I am not
known here by that name. Lona
Bennares is dead.’ She halted there,
with a grimace of bitterness, then
asked abruptly: ‘When and where
did you see the man in the green
coat ?’
“All doubt of that man had left
me the moment she spoke. Whatever
his motives in wanting her released,
whether they were selfish or altru¬
istic, he had told me the truth con¬
cerning her whereabouts, and I had
a swift intuition that he had told me
the truth all the way. I stepped
closer to her again, and my blood
hammered in my heart. Oh yes, I
was gone, all right. Head over heels.
Had been from the moment I stepped
in the doorway of her cell-like room
and looked in her face. I answered
her question eagerly.
“ ‘I saw him yesterday, in the old
deserted house where you used to live.
I stumbled on the place several days
ago, and saw him going in there. I
also saw him comparing notes in a
book he carried in his pocket to some
papers in that old desk in the front
room. That aroused my curiosity. I
went back to the house, got in with a
pass key and looked at those papers.
You’ll know what I found. I’ll ad¬
mit I was wildly excited about it. I
copied the formula and tried it out,
but it lacked one important ingredi¬
ent, as you must also know. I went
back there again to see if he had left
any notes containing that ingredient.
He came in while I was there, wrote
this note, left it on the table, and
walked out.’
“The strange fear in her eyes grew,
wavered and grew again as I talked.
As I withdrew the note from my
pocket, unfolded it and handed it to
her, she cried out strangely, and
shuddered even as she accepted it.
Then her eyes glued to it, unbeliev¬
ing, and she looked up at me with an
incredulous stare as she returned it
and spoke.
“ ‘Yes, I believe you. I must be¬
lieve you. I don’t understand. But
that is unquestionably his hand¬
writing. This is a terrible place for
a sane woman. I wonder at myself
that I am sane after everything that
has happened. The superintendent
will be back any minute. I must talk
quickly. My father and the man in
the green coat quarreled over the
formula. Father wanted it. The in¬
ventor would not give it to him. He
said it would not be good for him,
that he was not a big enough man to
handle it. They came to blows.
Father proved that he would stop at
nothing to get the formula. When I
was asleep, he injected into my veins
some strange fluid that would render
me dumb for five or six years. Then
WEIRD TALES
he brought me here. He represented
me as his sister, and placed me here
under the name of Jane Allen. Then
he devoted all his time in an effort to
procure that full formula. Two years
ago he was found dead in his labora¬
tory. News of it reached me, and I
gave up all hope of ever leaving this
place. There is much more I could
tell you. There is neither time to do
so now, nor wisdom in doing so. ’
“ ‘Your father rendered you dumb
by the use of something injected into
your veins?’ I interrupted, struck
with a sudden thought. ‘Then—was
the man in the green coat-?’
“ ‘Yes,’ she interrupted in turn.
‘He was made dumb by the same
process. He refused to give my father
the name of the missing ingredient,
to tell him, I should say, since he had
never written it down. And my
father injected into his veins that
hideous fluid. I fear—I fear that my
father must have become something
of a fiend, mentally unbalanced by
the visions of what that formula
eould bring a man. He could regu¬
late the period of dumbness he in¬
flicted by the strength of the injec¬
tion. He only intended making me
dumb for a few years, but I heard
him tell the man in the green coat
that he was making him dumb for¬
ever. He said that if he would not
tell him that missing ingredient, he
would see that no other man ever got
it. The man in the green coat had
taken a vow never to write it down. ’
“Che ceased speaking, and I stood
^ lost in thought for a moment. If
he was rendered dumb forever, the
man in the green coat would be com¬
pelled to break his vow and write that
ingredient’s name down for me. Or
had he some idea whereby he hoped
to break that long silence of his?
That passed through my head more
in a sense of detached curiosity than
anything else.
“I was on the point of speaking to
her again, when I heard the superin¬
tendent returning. I said, hastily,
under my breath, ‘Trust me, Miss
Bennares, if you can trust a stranger
after those nearest to you have treat¬
ed you so inhumanly. I haven’t time
to say more. I shall go straight to
the man in the green coat, and see
what he has to suggest. I’ll see you
again as soon as possible.’ Then I
heard the steps drawing nearer, and
I raised my voice to a casual, per¬
functory remark. ‘I’m sorry you
can’t speak, Miss. But I guess you
wouldn’t know anything about my
friend, anyway. I fancy you wouldn’t
remember. ’
“ ‘She remembers nothing,’ the
superintendent put in, suavely, with
something of satisfaction on his face.
‘I told you it would do no good to
talk to her. If you care to come
along with me, we have a very inter¬
esting case down the hall a few
doors. ’
‘ ‘ I wanted to tell him that I wasn’t
interested in anything else in the
world right then but Lona Bennares,
and I wanted to knock his impudent
tongue down his throat. But I had
to keep my mouth shut and follow
him out of there, knowing that
Lona’s eyes were following me, half
frantically, afraid to hope, desperate¬
ly trying to keep herself from hop¬
ing. Once down the hall with him, I
studied him and tried to estimate the
likeliest way of reaching him. He
was inclined to be suspicious of every¬
one, which might have been natural
to a man in his place. I don’t know.
But he was also one of those men
whose vanity is rather easily touched.
And when he asked me if he hadn’t
called the turn about the uselessness
of talking to Lona, I lied like a
trooper.
“ ‘Yes, you certainly did,’ I ad¬
mitted, and I didn’t have to dissemble
in putting on a long face, either. I
felt gloomy enough inside. ‘ She
doesn’t know me at all—shewed not
the least sign of recognizing me. So
I pretended to be looking for some-
THE MAN IN THE GREEN COAT
227
one else, to avoid exciting her. But
she is the girl I was trying to find.
We were to have been married, years
ago. I left the United States on busi¬
ness, and when I came back she had
disappeared. I’ve been looking for
her ever since. I find her—here.’
‘ ‘ ‘ Well, now, I want to know! ’ He
looked at my sympathetically, and
waited to see what else I was going to
say. I didn’t leave him wondering
long.
“ ‘Yes,’ I said, with the idea of
planting a few seeds where they
would flourish and do the most good.
But what I said now was true enough.
‘It’s very sad for me to find her this
way, and sadder still to think of
leaving her here. You’re a man of
discernment, you can see that. And
I imagine you must be a man with a
great deal of influence in the right
quarters. Couldn’t you use that
influence to help me get her out and
into my personal care?’
“ ‘No. No, sir, Mister, I can’t.
I’m sorry.’ And I believe he really
was. My flattery had hit home,
exactly as I intended it should, and
he thawed to me, his voice half apolo¬
getic as he went on in explanation.
‘You see, it’s like this. When her
brother brought her here he seemed
very much upset and grieved over
her condition. He paid her keep
here for six months, and came back
once or twice to see her. The last
time he came we had quite a long,
confidential talk. I could see that
merely the sight of her was too much
for him. He told me he didn’t think
he could stand it to come back again.
So he gave me a perfectly enormous
sum of money, on the written agree¬
ment we were to care for her here
until her death, and under no con¬
ditions allow anyone at any time to
take her out. So you see, I am duty
bound to fulfil my obligation. That
Mr. Allen has since died in no way
lessens my duty toward him or Miss
Jane. But I can appreciate your
position. And I say again—I’m
sorry. ’
“Well, that was that. Old Sam.
Bennares had certainly sowed the
whole thing up. And he’d sewed it
tight. It looked like a blank wall to
me. I want to tell you, Grant, I
packed a pretty heavy heart as I
walked out of that asylum and head¬
ed back to the old deserted house to
keep my rendezvous with the man in
the green coat.
“As I half expected, he was wait¬
ing there for me when I arrived the
next afternoon. And the expression
of my face must have been rather
glum, for he scrutinized me sharply,
waved me to a chair, scribbled some¬
thing on a paper and thrust it in
front of my face. I read: ‘Don’t be
so down-hearted. There’s ahvays
some way out of everything. You’ve
seen her. What did you find?’
“ ‘Yes,’ I admitted calmly, rather
wearily. ‘I’ve seen hex’, and she ad¬
mitted her identity to me. But ap¬
parently that’s about all the good
it’ll ever do—just my having seen
her.’ And then I went on to recount
to him, verbatim, all that had passed
between Lona and me, and between
the superintendent and me.
‘ ‘ TT e listened with a perfectly sto-
** ical face until I had finished.
He had taken a chair facing me.
And then he sprang to his feet and
began pacing back and forth across
the room, his face livid with rage. I
watched him in silence, wondering if
there were any possible way out for
Lona. Then suddenly he turned and
darted out of the room, into the rear
of the house, and I heard him run¬
ning pell-mell up the stairs to the
rooms overhead. I heard him scurry¬
ing around up there, and very short¬
ly he came tearing back down again
at the same breakneck pace. He
raced into the room and, before my
wondering eyes, he planked down on
the table a small bottle half filled
with some milky brown fluid, and a
228
WEIRD TALES
small hypodermic syringe. He pulled
his indispensable note-book from his
pocket, tore out a leaf, and began
writing on it with feverish haste.
“I waited in silence, watching
him; this time his message seemed
rather lengthy. When it was finished
he made no move to give it to me, but
backed from the table, and stood per¬
fectly motionless, his strange eyes
darting back and forth from the note
he had written to the objects on the
table, and to me. After a long mo¬
ment his gaze glued to mine, and if
I ever saw desperation, hope and
supplication in human eyes, I saw
them then in his. He made a queer
little half-threatening gesture, darted
by me and rushed out of the house.
“I sat there and stared at that
bottle and syringe like a fool, half
afraid to go and see what he had
written. But my eagerness and my
own desperate desire for action were
stronger than my fear. I got abrupt¬
ly to my feet, stepped to the table
and bent, to read the note:
There is only one way out. She is right.
Sam grew to be a terrible fiend. He was
my friend, and I would have let him have
the formula if he had been a bigger man,
and if I hadn’t known for what purpose he
wanted unlimited wealth. He was dabbling
in black magic; he had the house littered
with potions and serums. Lona never knew
what they were. Had I given him that
formula i would have loosed a destroying
fiend on the world. He is gone now, driven
to a far plane, and held there by the re¬
action of his own dark sorcery. We can
forget him. But some of his own evil
knowledge may now be the thing that will
make possible a' solution for us to this
tangle.
You have seen Lona, and your face tells
me that you have loved her, even as I have
done. She could never care for a hideous
thing like me. Even my attempts at kind¬
ness were repellent to her. It ’seems irony
now that it should rest solely upon me to
release her from that horrible prison into
which her fiend of a father put her. But
all I ask of eternal life is to be allowed
the privilege of doing that thing. And no
reward is too great for the man who will
aid me. If I could see her free, see her
your contented and beloved wife, as I know
you are seeing her already in your imagina¬
tion, I would be content.
Here, then, is what you must do. To get
her out of there, we must have her die
temporarily. In that bottle is a solution
Sam distilled. Injected into the veins, it
produces a coma that so closely simulates
death that no physician can tell it from
death. You must get to her secretly, in¬
ject this into her arm, and call the next
day to see her. You will be told she is
dead, and you must claim the body. But
you must get her away quickly. She will
wake from the coma in thirty-six hours.
This is what remained of the same fluid
Sam used to place her in a state of coma
when he took her away. In the name of
God, I ask you to aet.
“I backed from the table with an
involuntary shiver as I finished read¬
ing what had been written by the
man in the green coat. I had to hold
on to myself rigidly, that I might
consider it sanely. I was repelled by
it, yet I w r as touched by it, too.
Touched by his devouring and hope¬
less passion for her, and his honest
realization of his own repugnant ap¬
pearance. I thought of his little
dried-up body, his great mummylike
head, his hard gray eyes and ugly
features—and I thought of her. Yes,
I could pity him. But it was going
to take all the will-power I possessed
to drive myself to do the thing he
asked.
“And yet I knew it was the only
■way we should ever get her out of
there; I knew now how utterly self¬
less was his motive toward her. Lov¬
ing her as he did, he asked only to
see her released from what must be
torture to her sensitive spirit. To
procure her release, he could eon-
template seeing her the wife of an¬
other man, could even be contented
at the sight. That, if I knew any¬
thing about it, was a brand of love
to which I could take off my hat. I
knew even as I stood there that I
would do as he asked. But a thou¬
sand things ran through my mind
and turned me cold as I contemplated
it. Suppose the solution might be
weakened or changed after standing
all these years. Suppose it would
THE MAN IN THE GREEN COAT
229
not send hex* into a coma. Suppose
it would send her into a coma from
which she would never wake. Even
so, reason argued, eternal sleep would
be infinitely better than the living
death she now knew. Whatever the
chances, ghastly as they were, I had
no choice. It was the one way open
to me, and I must take it.
“The next night, well after 11
o’clock, I stealthily appi’oaelied the
asylum. I blessed the crescent moon
that gave me barely enough light to
get my bearings, yet left enough of
shadow to conceal me effectually, as
I stood looking up at the grim build¬
ing. It was entirely dark. Every¬
one within it was long since asleep.
Fortune favored me in one thing.
Her room was on the ground floor.
When I had finally located it, I
slipped warily up to the window and
tapped on the bars. I dared not
make too much noise. And I had
about despaired of waking her when
I finally heal’d a stir in the room, and
saw her face gleaming whitely at me
from within. The window was part¬
way open, and I placed my mouth
close to the bars as I spoke to her.
When she saw it was I, I heard her
give a little indrawn breath of re¬
lief. Rapidly I explained to her
what had taken place, and what had
been proposed by the man in the
green coat. I added my plea to his,
and told her then and there that I
asked no gi’eater privilege than to
free her and make her my wife.
“For a long time she was silent,
and I wondered what was going on
in her mind. Then she abruptly
slipped the window up a little far¬
ther, and held her arm close to the
bars. It was I who caught my breath
then. I’ve never been a coward, but
it took all the courage I had to fill
that needle with that unknown solu¬
tion and raise it toward that white
arm. The drive of the needle must
have hurt her, but she gave no sign.
And if I ever prayed in my life, I
was certainly praying desperately as
I drove that plunger home. She gave
a little gasp and backed from the
window, and I turned and stumbled
away like a blind man.
“I don’t think I care to try to
describe the rest of that night, Grant.
In Peking there is an edifice called
the Temple of Seventeen Hells. By
the time momitig came I think I
could have told the Chinese how to
build a temple of twice seventeen
hells. I didn’t know what I had
done, nor how it would end. I was,
still like a blind man, trusting des¬
perately hi the word of the man in
the green coat.
“By daylight, my nerves in rags, I
found myself pacing restlessly about
in a grove perhaps a mile from the
asylum. It was all I could do to con¬
trol my fevered impatience, and the
moments dragged like hours. Along
near noon I turned my steps toward
the asylum. When I presented my¬
self, the moment I looked into the
superintendent’s face, I knew the
desperate plan had succeeded in part
at least. He sighed regretfully,
greeting me before I had a chance to
speak.
“ ‘I have sad news for you, my
friend,’ he said. ‘The young lady
died very suddenly last night. She
hadn’t been ailing that we know of.
The doctor says that her heart simply
stopped. ’
“I don’t know how I retained
enough of coherence to go ahead with
things. Certainly I had no need to
simulate shock and grief. I was feel¬
ing upset enough without any dis¬
sembling. And, barring a little red
tape, I had no trouble in getting him
to allow my claiming the body.
“There was no doubt in my mind
as to where I should take her. To
the old house, of course, till she re¬
vived and we could make plans for
the immediate future. It was ghast¬
ly business for me, di’iving a closed
car up to the side door, and with his
aid carrying her out to the car. She
was so cold and white, so utterly life-
230
WEIRD TALES
less iii appearance, that I was ridden
by panic lest she should be really
dead.
‘ ‘ T managed somehow to exist
-*■ through that long drive away
from Wentworth to tlie old house in
the woods. I drove steadily, but not
too swiftly, and reached my destina¬
tion along about 10 o’clock that eve¬
ning. The man in the green coat
was there waiting for me, with a
single light burning and the shades
drawn. I wish you could have seen
the way his face lighted up when I
carried her in and placed her on the
old divan beyond the desk. He could
not speak, and I had no desire to do
so. There was nothing to be said, any¬
way. Each of us understood the other.
Strangely—yet not so strangely after
all, perhaps—I was beginning to feel
a genuine affection for the queer
little man in the green coat. In a
tense, racking silence we sat there all
night, guarding her and waiting.
Daylight came, but still we sat there,
unmoving. As the hours dragged by
and noon approached, each moment
seemed more unbearable than the
last.
‘'The hands of my watch had just
passed 12, when she stirred slightly
and opened her eyes. She looked up
at me, and then her gaze went on to
the man in the green coat. She
started, shrank back, and cried out.
“ ‘You!’ she gasped. Then her
gaze darted to me. ‘I don’t even
know your name,’ she said to me.
‘You forgot to tell me. But unless
I’m very mad indeed, my prayers are
answered and that awful nightmare
is over. How can I ever be grateful
enough to you ? ’
“ ‘More to him than to me,’ I an¬
swered, nodding to the ugly little
man who was worshiping her with
his eyes. ‘If it hadn’t been for
him-’
“I didn’t finish the sentence. But
she knew what I meant. She winced;
her eyes traveled to him, and then
back to me.
“Her next words were little more
than a whisper. ‘When you first
came to me—oh, what is your name?
How can I talk to you properly when
I don’t know your name?’
“I told her what it was. She
thanked me and went on. ‘As I
started to say, Mr. Tobin, when you
first came to me there and said he had
sent you, I thought you were the mad
one. But I guess I can sum it all up
when I say I was so desperate that T
would have taken any chance for re¬
lease that presented itself, even when
it came through a man who was mad. ’
“ ‘And that is why you were
afraid?’ I put in quickly, in a flash
of enlightment. She nodded soberly.
‘But why,’ I asked, ‘should you
think I was mad ? ’
“ ‘Because—the man in the green
coat is dead.’ Her eyes were on him,
wide and staring. ‘My father killed
him, in rage, because he would not
give up the formula. It is his body
that is buried out there in the yard,
was buried there seven years ago.’
“She saw the shock and disbelief
in my eyes and turned to him. ‘ Isn’t
it so?’
“He nodded.
“ ‘Shall I tell him everything?’ she
asked, and he nodded again.
“ ‘That was why my father put
me away. He knew I was horrified,
sickened by what he had done. He
was afraid I’d tell. He rendered me
dumb so I couldn’t tell. Then he put
me in the madhouse, where, if I at¬
tempted to write down what I knew,
my keeper would only pity me and
consider that I was where I belonged.
Certainly had I attempted to write
the truth it would have seemed mad
enough to the average person. In the
grave with him my father buried for
safe keeping a large amount of gold
made by the formula. He came back
from time to time and carried it
away, knowing well enough the vil¬
lagers would stay away from here.
THE MAN IN THE GREEN COAT
231
He gave a large part of it to the
superintendent of the asyluin to in¬
sure my being kept there. I think
there is nothing more to tell.’
“And, Gi$nt, there is little more
for me to tell you. You have seen
my wife. You know the position I
have attained through my secret
formula. You have seen him. You
will understand now why my house
is open to him no matter when he
chooses to come, and no matter who
is here. ’ ’
As Tobin ceased speaking, Thorpe
sat staring at him with horrified
eyes. His blanched face and startled
expression were evidence of the shock
he had received as Tobin’s story had
drawn to a close. He drew a long
breath, and shook his head, like a
man who can in no wise credit what
he has heard.
“Do you mean to tell me,” he de¬
manded, “that the man in the green
coat, the man I saw here this eve¬
ning, is a ghost f”
“You may call him what you
will,” Tobin answered quietly.
“Ghost, disembodied spirit, or ma¬
terialized astral being. I only know
what I have told you. I only know
that he has been dead for fifteen
years—that he came back from be¬
yond the grave, God knows at what
cost—to pass on to me information
that only he could give. I only know
that he was the means of rescuing
my wife from a living death. No
matter who or what he is, he has
shown me more than one priceless
formula. He has shown me what
ingredients if takes to make a noble
man, a gentleman unafraid. And
that’s enough for me.”
5 . The Qrip of Evil Dream
There were great cobwebs hanging everywhere,
And awful things were lying all around—
Wan hands and heads that had no'trace of wound,
Foul nightmare creatures peering through the air;
And from a dusky comer came the stare
Of some white form that made a rattling sound;
And there were living, ancient mummies bound
In gummy cloths of long and human hair.
These charnel horrors made me sick and weak,
And yet I could not move. There came a creak,
And then I felt a tongue or talon stroke
My neck, and heard a husky gurgling choke
As of a yellow corpse about to speak. .. .
How glad I was that I at last awoke!
s’-Sabbath
“The silver arrow buried itself in the
executioner's heart.”
The Story Thus Far
R utherford, an American traveling from Spain
to France, blunders into the medieval fortress-
town of the Vaudois on May Eve, when the Satan-
ists arc holding the Black Mass. Recognized as
the reincarnation of Benedicte, one of the chiefs
>f the devil-worshipers in the Dark Ages, he is
drawn by occult influences into the pernicious rites
and then allowed to proceed to London, guarded
by a familiar, and ordered to return for the
Witches’ Sabbath on the next May Eve. In London
bis friend Kincaid enlists the aid of Dr. Littlejohn,
a noted psychic, to release Rutherford from his
possession and detach him from his familiar; but
Rutherford falls under the domination of LeVoyen,
the Hermit of the Vosges, who forces him to break
his engagement to Helen Leonard after an at¬
tempt to kidnap her and turn her over to Le Voyen
ha9 failed. Helen, disguised as a boy, pursues the
pair into the city of the Satanists in the Pyrenees
Mountains, and is captured there by Rutherford
and Le Voyen. Meanwhile Littlejohn and Kincaid
have arrived to try to save Rutherford from the
possession which is imperiling the young Ameri¬
can’s soul. They are recognized, and ordered before
Vermilyea, Queen of the Satanists, who was Ruth¬
erford’s lover in a former incarnation.
the city has filled with devil-worshipers.
C ALM on the surface, it seemed
that the narrow thoroughfare
through which they passed
was teeming with a subdued bustle
and excitement; yet nowhere was
there a light, or even the slightest
break in the desolation of shuttered
houses along the way. A tangle of
side streets, and then the party
emerged into a more spacious prom¬
enade.
The four guards had increased the
pace. Littlejohn and Kincaid found
themselves hustled through the court¬
yard of an immense building. Into
its dark recesses they moved, until,
at length, they halted in what Kin¬
caid felt certain was the audience
This story began In WEIRD TAXES for July.
THE WITCHES’ SABBATH
hall, described previously by Ruther¬
ford. It was lighted by a single huge
lamp, suspended from invisible
beams aloft. The rays were lost in
space, making it difficult to form an
idea of the hall’s dimensions.
Suddenly a deep bass voice sound¬
ed behind them.
“English pilgrims, ye are most
welcome to this city and its ancient
religion,” it said.
The Americans, turning about, saw
a tall, distinguished-looking man,
past middle age, arise from a high,
carved chair and step forward with
outstretched hand.
“Dumaine!” thought Kincaid, as
the high priest greeted him. He re¬
called now how Rutherford had de¬
scribed the primate, that day in Lon¬
don. He noted his host’s dark hair,
streaked with gray, the strongly
aquiline nose, and, above all, the
dark, glistening eyes. There was a
resemblance between the alchemist
and the landlord, Tabelard, except
that the latter’s featui’es were less in¬
telligent and crafty. Plainly, Du¬
maine was capable of anything.
The primate chatted with Little¬
john in the Basque tongue, but the
conversation was too rapidly spoken
to permit the chemist to catch the
words. He surmised, however, that
it was an exchange of civil compli¬
ments.
A rustle in the darkness denoted
the arrival of someone else. It
proved to be a young woman, clad in
a rich gown of dark velvet. The robe
was carelessly draped, revealing an
alluring expanse of white shoulder.
Dumaine made a low bow and
dropped to one knee.
“Thy Majesty, the guests are
here,” he murmured; “the English
pilgrims.”
She regarded them with half-
closed: eyes and smiled dreamily, be-
witchingly, extending her hand,
which the two Americans pressed to
their lips, in turn. Both men felt the
magnetism of this beautiful girl, and
the almost erry sensation that came
with the touch of her fingers.
“I am Vermilyea,” spoke the girl
in low tones of perfect English.
“The hospitality of this palace is
yours. Our old city has its charms.
I perceive you have observed these
with approbation. We would like
you to know more of the city—of its
faith—and remain here, if you will.”
The Americans made graceful re¬
sponse to her greeting.
The queen turned her eyes toward
Kincaid, who approached nearer, as
Dumaine and Littlejohn drew aside
in conversation.
Nearness to Vermilyea was intoxi¬
cation itself, the chemist found. Her
figure was slender, yet well-rounded,
and of perfect mold. Her features
were of a firm delicacy, as if chiseled
to perfection, and made more glor¬
ious still by the wealth of soft black
tresses that crowned a classic head.
Kincaid stood for a minute, gripped
in the spell of her loveliness; yet
there was about her an influence that
roused a vague alarm. With an ef¬
fort, he lowered his eyes, avoiding
those gray-black ones that seemed to
fathom his soul.
“I am so glad,” she whispered to
Kincaid, aside, “that thou hast come.
Thou wilt like our town—wilt like
us—and become one of us. Thou wilt
stay, because thou likest me; because
I desire thee to?”
The sense of her loveliness, the per¬
fume of her breath upon his cheek,
seemed to rob him of his senses.
“ Mademoiselle breathed Kin¬
caid hoarsely, “as if any man could
refuse your bidding! I would do
anything—obey the slightest wish—
were it you who asked it! I—I ”
The arrival of a hooded major-
domo saved the situation, when Al¬
lan Kincaid was on the verge of rash
promises. Dinner was served.
V ermilyea and Kincaid led the
way. Dumaine and Littlejohn
followed them through a maze of
lofty hallways, paneled in ancient
234
WEIRD TALES
oak, and emerged into an olden ban¬
quet hall, where, in the distant cen¬
ter, rested a table, set with viands.
“Truly an immense palace, with¬
in, gives lie to its outward appear¬
ance,” thought Littlejohn, as he
seated himself to the left of the
queen. Kineaid had the place to her
right. Dumaine took an extra seat
beside the scientist.
The head of the table was vacant.
The queen sat facing that place,
where a great, regal chair stood
empty and waiting.
It was a strange meal. Kincaid
seized a filled wine goblet by his
plate, but caught a warning glint in
Littlejohn’s eye. He slowly set it
down, untouched, remembering the
psychist’s warning about strange po¬
tions.
“Does not Your Highness expect
another guest?” queried Kineaid,
aside, gazing from Vermilyea to the
great, vacant chair at the head of
the table, where the dishes rested
unused.
“Yes,” replied Vermilyea, giving
him a strange look. “We expect
him, always—the Host—for perhaps,
he will come!”
“Of whom do you speak?”
asked the chemist, curiously. “The
Host-?”
“The Master!” breathed the
queen, strangely. "The Great One!”
The glitter in her gray-black eyes
held him spellbound, horrified, and
he shrank back, involuntarily.
Dumaine, who had halted several
times, apparently on the verge of
communicating startling things to
the scientist, suspected something.
He was pressing Littlejohn with
pointed questions, endeavoring, it
seemed, to pin him down. The psy¬
chologist foiled, and was parrying
neatly, when the tall figure of a man,
in doublet and girdle of gold, entered
the hall and strode swiftly toward
the table.
The Americans glanced up, quick¬
ly, and perceived a contorted face—
an evil, gloating countenance—that
they instantly recognized.
It was that of Le Voyen!
The clairvoyant stepped beside
Dumaine, clutching the latter’s
sleeve.
“Enemies, sire!” he.yelled, level¬
ing an accusing finger at each of the
Americans. “Impostors! God-fear¬
ing spies! Zey are Americans, not
English, my lord! Ha, zey mean to
betray Her Highness—ze queen!
Eet ees ze truth! Seize ze dogs! Keel
zem!”
Vermilyea screamed hysterically.
Seizing a silver goblet, she hurled it
with all her force against a suspend¬
ed gong. The bell woke the echoes
of the hall, as the queen slipped
into the shadows and disappeared.
A horde of armed monks streamed
forth from the corridors and entered
the dining-hall.
‘ ‘ I need no proof! ’ ’ thundered Du-
maine, glaring at the Americans. “I
haf known from ze first! Torture
for spies and God-fearing dolts!”
Sensing their peril, Littlejohn and
Kineaid closed in, and prepared to
fight their way out. Hardly had they
done so than the lights expired, leav¬
ing the hall in blackness.
Before they could move to safety,
the floor gave way beneath their feet,
and the two men felt themselves
plunging into an abyss, with their
hands clutching the empty air. Past¬
er and faster they dropped, until
rushing space drowned all conscious¬
ness. A gloating laugh rang out
somewhere over the dark chasm. It
was a fiendish cry of joy and
triumph.
W hen Littlejohn slowly regained
his senses, he struggled to recall
what had happened. He rolled over
in the darkness, fumbling for his
pocket lamp. He found it several feet
away from his body, where it had
fallen from his pocket. Lighting the
wick, the psychist gazed about him.
A few feet away lay the body of
Kincaid. A hasty examination dis-
THE WITCHES’ SABBATH
235
closed him still breathing. Then the
doctor saw why they had escaped a
much worse fate. A huge pile of
rotting mattresses and cushions had
broken the fall, which must other¬
wise have plunged both men to
death.
Littlejohn knelt beside Kincaid’s
form and applied a liquor flask to the
younger man’s lips. Finally the
chemist opened his eyes and rose to
a sitting position.
“Easy, there! Easy! warned the
psychist. “Don’t exert yourself.
We’ve had a terrific fall, but those
mattresses saved us. No broken
bones? You’ll be all right presently.”
“Guess it’s all up with us, sir,”
groaned Kincaid. * ‘ Those fiends will
torture us, now. and no mistake. Du-
maine won’t stop at anything, Doc¬
tor. Too bad, but Le Voyen certain¬
ly timed his coup to a nicety. Where
are we?”
Littlejohn warned Kincaid to keep
his voice lowered.
“We’re in a dungeon,” he whis¬
pered. “We’re mai’ked for death,
and are being carefully guarded. We
must think fast, for time is short.”
The doctor gathered up his felt
bag and a number of other objects
that had dropped from his pockets
and were lying atop the mattress
pile. His spectacles, which had sur¬
vived the fall, were dangling, un¬
broken, on his waistcoat ribbon. He
hurriedly adjusted these.
“Look at this,” he urged Kincaid,
holding aloft a curiously shaped
stone figure that he had just picked
up.
“Our death warrant,” he ob¬
served. “It was thrown into the pit
after the trap was sprung. It calls
for torture first, and a slow death
afterward. We’ve got to get out of
here, son.”
Littlejohn lowered his voice, and
resumed the conversation in whispers.
“We ai'e to be sacrificed at the
Sabbath, tonight,” he added, “unless
we make our escape.”
“Tonight?” cried Kincaid, in as¬
tonishment. “What time is it?”
“It’s just past noon, May Eve,”
replied the scientist, glancing at his
watch. “Why, man, we’ve been un¬
conscious sixteen hours! Drugs in
the food, and the fall, you know.
Watch that trapdoor in the vaulting
above you. Warn me, if you see any
light.”
The psychist moved about the
dungeon, tapping the walls with a
loose stone. In ten minutes’ time he
had discovered a hollow spot in the
masonry. He moved back to Kin¬
caid’s side, indicating a rusty bar of
iron, pulled from beneath the mat¬
tress pile.
“A branding-iron!” he explained.
“Probably here since the inquisition.
But this thing of torture will be the
means of our salvation! There’s a
blocked-up tunnel in those walls, and
I’m going to make a breach. Look
sharp for the guards.”
While Kincaid watched the trap¬
door, Littlejohn inserted the edge of
the bar into the crumbling mortar
of the stonework. He worked it
deeper and deeper between the slabs,
and in a short space had pried loose
three blocks. He lifted these down
and attacked the second layer. An¬
other furious effort and he had pene¬
trated the barrier. A tunnel lay ex¬
posed.
A warning signal from Kincaid
caused the scientist to replace the
inner blocks hurriedly.
“Keep down!” muttered the
scientist, as he flung himself along¬
side Kincaid. “Pretend death, or un¬
consciousness. If the keepers come
down, we’ll seize them.”
A slight rumbling sound, above,
betokened the opening of the trap.
The Americans, lying on their backs,
could see a torch being lowered, far
overhead, by a chain. The glare re¬
vealed a row of brown cowls, and
the white of eyeballs staring down
the aperture.
A voice called sharply. It called
again and again through the open-
WEIKD TALES
ing, but neither of the prostrate men
stirred. Puzzled looks crept over the
swarthy faces, and excited whispers
were exchanged.
The faces vanished for an instant,
only to reappear.
A long rope ladder was being
lowered into the pit.
No sooner had the bottom rung
touched the mattress pile than
brown-robed figures came swarming
down. The torch glare disclosed that
the monks were carrying murder¬
ous-looking swords between their
teeth.
“Four of ’em,” whispered the
scientist. “Two apiece, boy! Take
this in your hand, and pull the trig¬
ger when you ‘see the whites of their
eyes.’ ”
Littlejohn pressed a small watch-
pistol into Kincaid’s open palm. The
latter’s fingers closed over it. ,
The jailers stepped cautiously, one
by one, from the ladder. Four pow¬
erfully built men advanced, halting
beside the still forms of the Ameri¬
cans.
The scientist signaled Kincaid with
a pressure of his boot tip as the
cowled faces bent over them.
Both Americans leaped together,
locking their arms about the necks
of the nearest monks and dragging
them down to the mattress pile.
Their hoarse yells were cut short
by the almost simultaneous explo¬
sions of bulb guns in the hands of
the prisoners; two subdued pops, ac¬
companied by white, hissing spurts
of smoke, which struck squarely in
the swarthy faces. The two tortur¬
ers dropped like logs.
The other pair, springing back,
gripped their blades and prepared
to send them home into the bodies of
the two Americans.
Littlejohn, with a deft motion,
hooked his left foot into the heels of
one swordsman and brought him
tumbling down. The fellow leaped
back to his feet instantly, and
crouched to regain his fallen weapon.
As he did so, the psychist pressed
the chemical pistol within an inch
of the killer’s face and pulled the
trigger. Another muffled report, and
the third man dropped in his tracks.
Kincaid, weighted by the fallen
body of his first adversary, could not
recover himself quickly enough to
dodge the descending blade. As the
razor-sharp edge hissed down, the
chemist with almost superhuman
quickness thrust the body of the fall¬
en man over his own. A sickly thud
told that the sword had bitten deep
into the human shield.
Before the frothing fiend could
strike again, Littlejohn had sent two
bursts of smoke into the flashing
teeth. The last man crashed down,
rolling like a sack of meal from the
pile of cushions.
“Three of these chaps will wake
up two days hence, none the worse,”
puffed Littlejohn, red from exertion.
“The fourth won’t wake at all.”
He indicated the body of the tor¬
turer, almost cleft by his com¬
panion’s weapon.
“Come,” spoke the psychist calm¬
ly. ‘ ‘ The way is clear, but it is only
a matter of minutes before our escape
will be discovered. Every moment
counts.”
ittlejohn pried out the loosened
blocks hastily. He wriggled
through easily enough, and stood in¬
side the tunnel while Kincaid passed
the stones through from the dungeon
side of the wall.
Kincaid’s larger body came
through the breach with difficulty,
but, with the aid of the scientist, it
was accomplished. Littlejohn then
replaced the blocks and wiped his
hands.
“It will fool them long enough to
help us get away,” he remarked,
holding his pocket lamp aloft.
They were now moving down a
damp, moldy corridor, evidently un¬
used for hundreds of years. They
had gone a distance of probably a
THE WITCHES’ SABBATH
237
half-mile, when they emerged into
the depths of a deep, black rotunda.
“I believe this to be a wing of the
cathedral,” whispered Littlejohn.
“It will slow us up some, I’m afraid,
but tflat can’t be helped. The in¬
fluences here are dangerously strong.
Throw off all suggestion.”
The pocket light expired. Noxious,
invisible wings swished by their
faces as they advanced across the
rotunda, driving back by force of
will the forces that seemed trying
to beat them, crush and conquer
them. Kincaid was seized with faint¬
ness and terror, but the scientist’s
steadying words braced him.
“Fight it off, Kincaid! Fight with
your thought! Steady! Steady!”
cautioned the psychologist, stum¬
bling through the inky blackness, still
holding the deadened lamp.
Littlejohn w r as leading the way,
slowly; “feeling out” the atmos¬
phere before him, when suddenly he
flung himself back on Kincaid, grip¬
ping the younger man’s arm tightly,
as he stumbled in semicircular direc¬
tion, toward the left.
A fetid rush of air told Kincaid
why. They had just missed stepping
into a great pit that lay concealed in
the darkness! By the fraction of an
inch the Americans had missed a
black and frightful death.
“This place is honeycombed with
such traps, ’ ’ warned the little- scien¬
tist, “yet we must find an exit. We
must hide out during the sabbath,
tonight. Drugs brought here by Le
Voyen will spur these people to mad¬
ness. We’ll be slain like dogs if we
are caught.”
More invisible objects struck their
faces. The rotunda seemed alive with
some malignant power, which threat¬
ened to overwhelm the fugitives.
Kincaid broke forth babbling, but
was quickly roused by a sharp blow
on the back. Littlejohn had been
forced to strike him.
“Beware of illusions,” the psychist
told him. “This entire place is ac¬
cursed ! Here, follow me; this way. ”
They found themselves at the bot¬
tom of a flight of winding stairs.
Both men started the ascent shakily,
still fighting off the onslaught of mar
levolent influences. They plodded up,
round and round the spiral flight,
and by degrees forged upward
through the moldy shaft.
Two thousand steps and more; the
Americans lost track of the number.
They were conscious of low open¬
ings, from time to time—openings to
what ? They did not know. A musty,
unholy medley of odors exhaled
from these, a smell of fire and brim¬
stone.
At last—a dim white glow above;
a blinding glare of light at the next
turn, and the fugitives reeled against
the shaft, exhausted. Through the
slotted windows, their dimmed eyes
gazed across valley and mountain
rim, where, far in the distance,
loomed a streak of pale yellow—of
sand dunes, lining the coast—and
beyond, the almost imperceptible
flash of the sea.
They were near the peak of the
great cathedral tower! They con¬
tinued to climb, within the frame of
stonework, until the steps came ab¬
ruptly to an end amid a pile of blocks
and mortar. From slab to slab they
picked a path, until at length they
stood atop the jagged turret, with
its crest of curving satyr’s horns.
A sound of excited voices was
wafted fi'om afar. Gazing out across
the dark-tiled roofs to the streets be¬
low, they observed a large body of
brown-robed men, engaged in a fu¬
rious hunt. The cries of these hooded
ones rose like those of wolves in
search of prey.
“Our escape is discovered,” said
the scientist, in low tones. “The
knaves are seeking us. But we are
fairly safe.”
“You mean this tower, Doctor?”
inquired Kincaid anxiously. “It
238
WEIRD TALES
seems like a rather bad sort of trap.
Are you sure that it is safe?”
“ Yes, ” replied the scientist. ‘ ‘ The
crest, where we are standing, is a
sanctuary, an evil shrine, where not
even the high priest may come.
Therefore I feel that we need have
no fear.”
The guard, in the thoroughfares,
had moved away from the market¬
place. The hue and cry grew fainter,
as twilight softly fell.
Kincaid discovered a new activity
farther off in the distance, where
dark forms were streaming from the
city gates across the gorge. It re¬
minded him, forcefully, of a flowing
horde of rats.
“Late arrivals,” said Littlejohn.
“Pilgrims, you know. The town is
seething with them, and the Sabbath
hour is near.”
Down in the square, where, hun¬
dreds of years before, thousands had
been burnt for sorcery, silent, muffled
figures were scurrying in every di¬
rection. Other forms slithered along
the crenelated ramparts of the town,
and slid around the base of the
cathedral; creatures of human
semblance one minute, and of animal
the next. Kincaid’s startled eyes
could be certain neither of the form
nor sex of these beings.
The chemist cried out sharply, as
his gaze shifted suddenly to the effigy
towering above them. The scientist,
peering up, noted that the satyr’s
features were now bathed in a X'ed,
unearthly light, which dripped from
the horns, like blood!
A whir of machinery shook the
tower, as, from somewhere beneath
them, deep croaking horns poured
forth a flood of hideous notes. The
assembly prelude! The thought
flashed through Littlejohn’s mind of
the hour, and of its meaning to “the
faithful. ’ ’
Something stirred far back in the
scientist’s mind; a dim memory of
centuries ago, when Christian bells in
this very tower caused peaceful
prayer among the mountain folk, in¬
stead of terrified pleas for deliver¬
ance from a croaking of witches’
horns.
L ittlejohn stripped hims^f to
’ the waist and commanded Kin¬
caid to do likewise. He applied a
salve from a silver box to the torsos
of both; then seized a phial, uncork¬
ing it, and offered it to the chemist.
“Drink!” ordered the psychist, of¬
fering a short prayer to the Holy
Trinity.
Replacing -their waistcoats, the
two men descended from the top of
the tower, going slowly down the
spiral flight. At length they turned
off in a passage, just under the
ground level.
Against the walls leaned the
statues of horned creatures; disem¬
bodied demons of the underworld,
and horrible, disfigured effigies that
seemed ready to spit and claw. Dull
red and green shafts of light inter¬
mingled, bathing the place with a
ghastly light.
Kincaid clutched the scientist’s
sleeve, pointing between the moss-
grown stone benches, where satyrs
moved back and forth, with charac¬
teristic jerky movements. There
were other forms that hovered in air
over the great, empty theater—in¬
visible beings, who pawed the two
Americans and gouged at their eyes,
gloating fiendishly.
“Familiars,” the psychist whis¬
pered, “waiting to be attached.”
They moved slowly to the pit of
the auditorium, where the sight of
the entire rear, shrouded in dark cur¬
tains, aroused Kincaid’s curiosity.
Evidently these curtains concealed
some sore of a platform, and he start¬
ed ahead to investigate.
He felt himself jerked suddenly
back, and Littlejohn’s hand gripping
his shoulder.
“Don’t go near those curtains,”
commanded the psychist, excitedly.
“It would cost you your life. Stand
THE WITCHES’ SABBATH
239
steady, now, and remain close to me.
We’re in peril every minute, here.”
The scientist pointed to a small
flight of stairs in the wall of the
auditorium. They ascended these and
found themselves in a cupola, level
with the balcony and overlooking
the entire assembly place. The front
of the cupola was closed, except for
a narrow, horizontal slot, through
which one might watch proceedings,
unseen.
“ ’Tis said that a King of France,
from this cupola, witnessed the Sab¬
bath revels, many years ago,” assert¬
ed Littlejohn. “In this spot he rev¬
eled in privacy at the May Eve
orgies, and received Black Mass for
his especial benefit. It was here that
a war with England was hatched, at
the Satanic command.”
He took Kincaid’s arm.
“We shall watch, from this spot,
the Sabbath revel tonight!” added
Littlejohn. “It is now almost time
for the assembly. Let us slip out¬
side hastily, but, as you value your
safety and mine, stay close to the
cathedral walls. Don’t let yourself
be seen.”
They moved stealthily out of the
building, until they reached the por¬
tal of the belfry. They crept over the
stone flagging and dropped like shad¬
ows, close to the entrance portals.
Around the corners of the market¬
place, figures rushed, with remark¬
able speed. Some seemed flying
through the air—human forms ac¬
tually soaring over the rooftops,
while the touching Americans
gasped. Other creatures dropped
from housetops and window-ledges,
leaping from level to level with the
agility of cats. The bodies of these
creatures shone with the faint lu¬
minosity of witches’ ointment, which
tinged their features, their hands and
bodies. Figures of men and women
became those of animals with muz¬
zles, snouts and claws. In the dis¬
tance arose a chorus of howling,
which trailed off like the mournful
wailing of wolves.
An old crone, imbued with catlike
activity, flew through the air as if on
wings and flopped down at the feet
of the crouching Americans. She
tugged at the form of Kincaid, in a
frenzy of zeal.
“E-yai! Hetan! Emcn Hetanl ”•
she screamed. “Anoint and fly! The
Sabbath is here!”
Kincaid thrust the snarling, claw¬
ing creature away from him. With a
howl the hag leaped into the air and
was away like a flash, joining an
aerial procession of crazed creatures,
in whose wake flew a stream of fa¬
miliars. The air seemed alive with
forms, speeding like bullets, in every
direction. The whole square was
filled with an eddying host of beings.
The deep, guttural bellow of the
tocsin sounded again from the Ca¬
thedral of Horns.
An answering chorus of wails
arose, stretching from one end of the
city to the other, in the awful cres¬
cendo of the Sabbath cry. The gorge
had turned into a seething inferno;
great billows of flame and lurid mists
mounted from its depths and soared
high over the housetops. The flames
were reflected on a horde of dark
bodies, flying over the chasm.
Both Kincaid and Littlejohn dart¬
ed quickly toward the wide entrance,
in an effort to regain the cathedral.
But as they reached the portal, a
vanguard of heavy, thudding crea¬
tures shot from the air, like meteors,
and landed beside them. Faster and
faster they came, until the portal was
choked with naked torsos, smeared
with burning witches’ salve. They
flopped down on the flagging, seem¬
ing to assume the forms of animals as
they rushed into the cathedral on all
fours. The night was filled with the
cries of wolves and panthers.
“E-yai! Hetan! Emen Iletan! 8a-
bat! Sabat!” screamed the frenzied
ones, foaming at the mouth.
240
WEIRD TALES
“The cry of the Witches’ Sab¬
bath,” muttered the scientist, tug¬
ging at Kincaid. “Back inside, or it
will be too late!”
The two Americans, thus far un¬
observed, pushed their way through
the fighting worshipers. They dart¬
ed to the right, where the tower pas¬
sage lay, and ran through the corri¬
dor, into the auditorium. Littlejohn
and Kincaid reached the cupola
stairway without detection. They
rested, lying on the floor of their
vantage place, panting from exer¬
tion.
A shrieking crowd seethed into
the auditorium, fast filling it up. Far
overhead, the vaulted ceiling was ob¬
scured by smoke, shot with streaks
of unholy fire.
Through the air came the rain of
“faithful”to the rendezvous. Every¬
where in the place, familiars fought,
bit and yelled, demoniacally.
In a halo of reddish flame, a great
figure sailed through the air and
plumped down on the central dais.
With a fiendish cry, it leaped, like
a cat, into the bishop’s chair - of
carved stone. It crouched low before
the altar, a square, sacrificial block,
and then rose to full length with a
scream. It spun sfround, and then
the Americans saw its face.
It was Dumaine!
“The High Priest! The High
Priest!” acclaimed the swaying
throng of worshipers.
His voice broke forth in a sonorous
chant, surely the music of a weird
mass, the huge, majestic rhythm of
which was swelled by a chorus of
demented voices.
From somewhere in the great ca¬
thedral the tones of a great organ
broke forth. Its booming notes were
unlike anything Littlejohn had ever
heard before. The peal seemed to jar
the atmosphere like thunder. It was
the beginning of some frightful stage
in the rites, the watchers were con¬
vinced.
And then, they saw her! Her body
seemed to swoop down upon the dais,
apparently from nowhere.
Vermilyea! The two Americans
gasped.
“The Queen! The Queen!”
screamed the worshipers. “Her Maj¬
esty comes! Hail,hail Her Majesty!”
V ermilyea ’s eyes were agleam
with a wild light; her flying dark
hair was crowned with oak leaves,
her slender body half-clad in tattered
garments of brown, her bare knees
revealed by a short, ragged skirt.
Her whole body was glowing and
shrouded with lurid mist.
Le Voyen and Rutherford sudden¬
ly appeared, spinning down from the
air and leaping to the dais. They
knelt before the queen and flung
themselves prostrate, with sharp
cries.
“It is the Hermit—the Hermit!”
roared the audience. “It is Le Voyen,
the seer of the Vosges! Give him the
Bishop’s miter! He is qualified.”
Le Voyen leaped up, facing the
worshipers, and flung his arms wide.
He chanted a sentence to the throng,
and held his powerful right hand
aloft. He knelt again at Vermilyea’s
feet.
Dumaine’s face went black as
night, at this bid for popularity.
Plainly, Le Voyen had captured pil¬
grim fancy, and, as Dumaine knew,
the seer was a formidable rival.
From their vantage point the
watchers saw the high priest turn
his contorted face aside and struggle
for control. He succeeded with an
effort.
Vermilyea descended from the
throne, flinging her body in low
obeisance before the great, dark cur¬
tain in rear of the cathedral, and
began the slow, sinuous movements
of a ritual dance.
A deeper note from the great organ
reverberated through the auditorium.
The dark curtains stirred and slowly
drew apart, exposing a huge, gilded
throne. The upper part was shrouded
in mist.
THE WITCHES’ SABBATH
241
“The hour of midnight draws
near,” chanted Vermilyea, repeating
a series of strange words in rapid
succession. Dumaine, Rutherford and
Le Voyen chanted an accompani¬
ment to the Black liturgy; the lay
priests took up the strain, and then
the frenzied audience joined in the
evil chorus, with a crashing din.
A sensuous, weird strain, like
nothing in Christian worship, broke
forth from the organ. The milling
assemblage gave an answering shout.
Everywhere upon the floor rolled
the worshipers, beating their breasts
in ecstasy. Crouching men and wo¬
men tore the clothing from their
bodies, and the next instant had as¬
sumed the forms of animals, with
eery wailings and growls.
Littlejohn saw two lay priests,
with brutal faces, bear up the un¬
conscious body of a young woman
through a trapdoor in the dais. The
scientist reeled back as from a blow
when he saw her features.
“Helen Leonard!” he gasped.
“My God! They’ve captured her!
How did she ever find her way to
this damnable place ? Kincaid, we’ve
got to act! Stand ready.”
They saw the lay priests deposit
the limp form of the girl at the foot
of the altar block, and wait with
folded arms.
Vast changes were now being
wrought in the auditorium, where
the play of unseen forces was be¬
ginning to crackle like lightning.
Dumaine had raised his voice in a
high, singsong pitch, and was pros¬
trating himself before the parted
curtains, where now a column of gray
vapor was beginning to rise and
billow out. Le Voyen and Ruther¬
ford were kneeling in worship before
the swaying mist that hung before
the throne, vibrating, terrible and
threatening.
Kincaid, with rising hair and shiv¬
ering limbs, was fast falling under
the grip of the spell. He clutched
the arm of the psychist, while beads
w. t.— s
of perspiration streamed from his
face.
Vermilyea, wildly beautiful in the
frenzy of witch ointment, had quick¬
ened the pace of her dance; her feet
flew, and her body seemed to leap
forward and soar to the cadence of
the deep, mournful swell of pagan
music. There was something allur¬
ing, seductive, wicked, in the measure,
something unhallowed in the lithe
play of muscle and limb.
The Black ceremony had thorough¬
ly seized the worshipers. With the
rise and fall of the odious chorus the
atmosphere seemed alive with the
countenances of lost and beaten
souls. Features contorted by untold
suffering writhed and babbled and
shrieked in the thickening column of
mist.
Vermilyea whirled and fell with
arms outstretched before that shape¬
less gray cloud, already turning
black and shot with a thousand
tongues of flame.
A sound, like the rushing of
meteors through space, rose and al¬
ternated with that of rumbling vol¬
canoes. The very cathedral shook.
“Hail Lucifer!” screamed the mad
unison of voices. “Hail, All-powerful
Dark One! Satanus! Satanus! He
comes! He comes!”
The walls of the cathedral receded;
the interior disappeared, except the
dais, between the groveling throng
and the distant throne. Thunderous
forces shattered the air, jarring, it
seemed, the very earth.
Against the sky loomed the mon¬
strous form of a steel-clad warrior,
enveloped in gray smoke. It seemed
to blot out the very stars that hung
over a black and barren world.
“Hide the eyes, so that the faithful
shall not be stricken by the radiance
of the Master!” shrieked Dumaine,
as the great form moved nearer amid
a rain of blood from the atmosphere
and a rushing of demon forces
through all space.
242
WEIRD TALES
“Hail, mighty Prince of Dark¬
ness!" screamed the lay priests.
“Thy subjects pay tribute to thy
glory!”
The worshipers writhed upon the
ground, with bodies convulsed in the
Great One’s presence.
“In the black rites of the sacred
ritual, prepare to elevate the Host!”
screamed Dumaine.
“To the glory of the majestic
Presence, let us make ready the will¬
ing sacrifice,” echoed the under
priests. “Let the honored twain
quaff the glorious communion potion
with the Master!”
“Sanctus!” bellowed Dumaine.
Two lay priests knelt before Le
Voyen and Rutherford, extending to
each a Black Communion chalice.
The guards unfolded their arms
and lifted the form of Helen Leonard
upon the sacrifical stone. They tore
.•-way her garments, and bound her
white limbs firmly to the block.
A figure in medieval costume—
half of yellow, half of red—stepped
forward beside the girl. It was the
executioner. He slowly raised the ax
of sacrifice.
In that instant, the two horrified
Americans in the cupola saw the face
of the monstrous figure on the throne.
It was immense, horrible, as it
stared forth stonily upon the scene
before it. The gray lips were drawn
back over tightly clenched fangs;
the countenance was cut deep with
cruel, sardonic lines, and crested with
a pair of thick, black horns. The
feet had changed to cloven hoofs. A
great spear tail slid, snakelike, from
the throne.
Littlejohn knelt down before the
slotted aperture. With a lightning-
like motion he fitted a silver arrow
to the bow and drew back the
tautened string. The headsman’s ax
glittered on high, poised for the fatal
stroke.
The scientist tensed the thong with
all his force and released its twang¬
ing length! Swift as thought, the
barb sang through the air, and with
a muffled burst of flame buried itself
in the executioner’s heart. The yel¬
low and red figure went crashing to
the floor.
Almost at the same time, a second
arrow left the psychist’s bow. It
struck squarely between Rutherford
and Le Voyen, exploding with a bril¬
liant flash. Their terror-stricken
hands let drop the chalices, as they
leaped back in surprize.
Littlejohn struck Kincaid in the
face to break the chain of influences
seeking to possess the younger man.
“Quick! Quick!” he breathed.
“Control yourself! To the rescue!
Come!”
The scientist plunged down the
cupola stairs and rushed into the
auditorium.
“Give way—damn you!” shouted
Kincaid, striking right and left, as
he ran beside the psychist.
They dashed straight for the dais,
beating a path through the welter
of bodies.
Littlejohn’s voice rose in the strain
of a swift incantation. He made a
mystic sign and leaped onto the dais.
Snatching a knife from the dead
executioner’s belt, he slashed the
bonds that held Helen’s form to the
block, and covered the girl with a
robe.
Without pausing in the staccato,
whiplike chant, the scientist raised
his bow and affixed a great, golden
arrow. It was shaped like a crucifix.
With a mighty twang, the thong re¬
leased the heavy dart, and the cross
shot straight toward the Dark One
on the throne. A bright burst of
golden light, through the mist, il¬
lumined the whole auditorium, as
clouds rolled down over the cringing
warrior in the gilded seat.
A deafening crash rolled forth as
the arrow struck. A terrible cry
arose from the mists, and again the
booming of volcanoes filled the air.
The sounds gradually died away, and
blackness covered the throne. The
curtains closed with a rush.
The Gray One had disappeared!
THE WITCHES’ SABBATH
T he confusion in the assembly hall
was ghastly. Littlejohn’s body
hovered stiffly erect in the center of
the dais, his lips uttering a new
jargon of mystic passages, in a deep¬
er pitch. His arm, gripping an oddly
shaped, flat vessel, whirled swiftly
over his head, sending a cloud of
powdered substance into the air.
A blinding circle of white flame
roared and crackled in the atmos¬
phere, surrounding the psychist,
Kincaid, Vermilyea and Helen with
protective force. The flaming hoop
threw terror into the mad worship¬
ers, who shrieked and fought to es¬
cape the fire.
“A priest of God is here!” rose
the frantic cry. “A bright avenger!
A sorcerer of power! Fly for your
lives! Fly!”
The audience was in wild stampede.
Littlejohn seized the huddled form
of Vermilyea in his arms, and mo¬
tioned Kincaid to lift Helen. Grasp¬
ing their burdens, the Americans
plunged down from the dais and
moved toward the cathedral en¬
trance. The magic circle of flame
moved with them, mowing a lane
through the ranks of the frenzied
“faithful.”
“Seize them! Slay them!” bel¬
lowed Dumaine. “Tear them apart!
Burn them!”
The cry was taken up by the under
priests, who crowded and frothed at
the edge of the blazing ring, im¬
potent to break through it. Armed
monks, clutching their razor-sharp
broadswords, found it impossible to
raise them. Their arms were para¬
lyzed, and, in foaming helplessness,
they watched the retreat of the in¬
vaders.
Littlejohn, finding the cathedral
doors locked, plunged up the first
flight of steps he encountered, in the
front wall, clasping his burden fast.
He was followed by Kincaid, bearing
the form of Helen.
They found themselves in the great
organ-loft, with the flaming circle
dying out and the bloodthirsty mob
closing in.
‘ ‘ Take Helen—outside—to safety!”
called the scientist to Kincaid. “The
crowd is locked inside! I’ll stand
them off, at the stairs!”
The spell was broken.
Kincaid darted through a passage
in the wall of the loft. Littlejohn
lowered Vermilyea’s body to the
floor, just in time to block a furious
onrush of a crazed being.
It was the organist. The scientist
felled the creature with a terrific
blow, and seizing its body, flung it,
with the strength of desperation, into
the faees of the monks now crowd¬
ing up the stairs.
The rage of the devil-worshipers
knew no bounds. It was plain that
nothing short of vengeance would
satisfy them. A lay priest leaped up
the flight of stairs and sought to
grapple with Littlejohn. But again
the scientist used his fist with good
effect and sent the follow spinning
to the bottom of the flight.
He drew forth his silver bow, but
found, to his dismay, the thong had
snapped. He hurled the useless
weapon aside and seized a low, heavy
stool, laying it right and left upon
the heads of stalwart men-at-arms
attempting to storm the stairs. He
then whipped forth a phial from his
pockets and hurled it down into the
crowd below. Flames burst out over
the entire staircase, cutting off at¬
tack from that direction.
How Tabelard got into the organ-
loft, Littlejohn never afterward
knew. The gaunt form of the inn¬
keeper rushed in behind the psychist
with such force that the latter was
hurled forward across the organ
bench. His outstretched arms
thrashed wildly over the three banks
of organ keys, and his feet sprawled
over the pedals. A crashing chord
of thunder and high notes rushed
forth from the pipes of the great
organ.
Tabelard, thinking to press his ad¬
vantage, rushed again, bnt Littlejohn
244
WEIRD TALES
planted his heel in the pit of the
wretch’s stomach so forcefully that
the latter doubled up with pain. Be¬
fore the innkeeper could recover, the
scientist had seized the wooden stool
and brought it down over the
swarthy skull. Tabelard dropped like
a poled ox.
A new terror had spread among
the milling worshipers below. Al¬
though there was now- no pressure
on the keys or pedals, the thunderous
chord of the organ still swelled forth,
filling the entire auditorium. Noth¬
ing, it seemed, could stop it.
The cathedral swayed and rocked.
A wrench of sundering masonry
smote the psychist’s ears, and as he
glanced aloft he noted with alarm
that a fine stream of dust and stone
was pouring down from the vaulted
roof.
Then blocks of stone came hurtling
down, followed by whole sections of
masonry, as the howling worshipers
scattered in every direction.
The vibration of the organ notes
had shaken loose the roof!
Littlejohn knew there was not a
second to lose. Snatching up Ver-
milyea’s body, he staggered along
the passage, with the prolonged
organ roar still in his ears, and at
length emerged into the dawn now
breaking over the market-place.
A jarring boom told of the collapse
of the entire west wall. The scramble
of worshipers fleeing through the
breach filled the air, as Littlejohn
laid the form of the unconscious
Daughter of the Dusk upon the
sward.
In the center of the square, he
turned just in time to see the whole
cathedral totter. The roar of the
witch organ, in some manner, had
set the machinery of the tower in
motion, and the bellowing of horns
was added to the monstrous requiem.
His ears filled with noise, Little¬
john saw the horned crest of Lucifer,
and the rest of the jagged tower,
plunge downward. The cathedral
walls bulged outward for a moment,
and then the entire structure went
down with a jarring crash. A column
of dust rose high above the spot,
veiling it like a pall.
The Cathedral of Horns was gone!
A low, wailing sound pervaded the
city and died away into the distance.
The streets were silent and empty.
But, far away, Littlejohn thought he
could still hear the diminishing
shrieks of the Satanists.
He knelt beside the beautiful
Daughter of the Dusk. He made a
mystic sign and placed a hand upon
her brow. Her eyelids fluttered open.
She screamed as the psychist uttered
a series of cabalistic words and ended
his droning chant with a prayer to
the Creator.
With a sharp cry, Vermilyea fell
back. Her body writhed in the throes
of convulsions. Her whole frame
jerked spasmodically, as the psychist
sprinkled the contents of a golden
phial over her face, her limbs and
body. She fell into a deep swoon, as
the scientist prayed again, and sud¬
denly a flash of scarlet light shot
from Vermilyea’s body and vanished
in the air.
X Vermilyea recovered consciousness
* to face Littlejohn’s kindly smile.
“Where, oh where am I?” she
murmured, as her eyes gazed wildly
over the scene. There was no light
of recognition in them, Littlejohn
observed.
“In safe hands,” he said gently.
“The spell is broken, and you, my
dear child, are now redeemed!”
He lifted her to an old stone bench
and pillowed her head with his coat.
She sank silently into sleep.
At that moment Kincaid rushed up,
a feverish light shining in his eyes.
He placed a dark red box upon the
ground, and rushed to the spot where
the psychist stood, to throw his arms
about Littlejohn.
“Thank God, you’re safe!”
groaned Kincaid. “I feared you had
been crushed in that accursed ca¬
thedral.”
THE WITCHES’ SABBATH
245
“A close call,” replied Littlejohn,
“hut I got Vermilyea out in time.
Where is Helen Leonard?” The
scientist gave a start of apprehension.
“A prisoner in the hands of Le
Voyen and Rutherford!” cried
Kincaid despairingly. “Kidnaped!
Stolen, in front of my very eyes!”
“Where—how—did it happen?”
demanded the scientist, struggling
for control.
The chemist spoke, almost in tears:
“I rushed out of the cathedral, with
Helen in my arms. I laid her on the
flagging, and then dashed back to
help you fight off those devils.”
“Yes, yes! Go on!” urged the
psychist, in consternation.
“Rutherford and Le Yoyen sped
past me like phantoms. Before I
could prevent it, they had snatched
up Helen and were racing away with
her. I followed them through the
streets, and was gaining, when they
darted into a passageway. The chase
led into a huge workshop-”
“Dumaine’s alchemy!” muttered
Littlejohn.
“It was,” said Kincaid, excitedly.
“I rushed toward the pair, but as I
did so, Dumaine came rushing out of
the shadows with an upraised sword.
I snatched up an iron bar and ward¬
ed off the thrust. I lunged toward
the sorcerer, but he had leaped
through a window and begun a re¬
treat across a flying buttress, to an¬
other wing of the building.
“I hurled the bar with all my
force. It struck Dumaine across the
back, sending him off his balance.
His arms thrashed the air for a mo¬
ment, in a desperate attempt to save
himself. In vain! He plunged from
the buttress, and then went, shriek¬
ing, into the chasm, below. In the
meantime, Helen’s captors had made
off with her.”
Littlejohn stifled a cry. The fact
had hit him hard.
“I found these in the sorcerer’s
den,” announced Kincaid discon¬
solately, prodding the crimson box
with his foot.
Littlejohn stooped and whipped off
the cover. Inside lay two wax Vau-
dois effigies, of the same type that
Le Voyen had made in London.
One of the statues was a lifelike
image of Le Voyen; the other, that
of Rutherford.
“Humph! ’ ’ exclaimed the scientist.
“Pretty well done, at that! So, old
Dumaine was jealous, eh? Looks as
if he was using witchcraft to settle
a score.”
“It seems that way, indeed,” an¬
swered Kincaid, gravely, as he
watched the psychist make minute
examination of both the small fig¬
ures.
“No sign of a curse,” Littlejohn
murmured, shaking his head. “I
don’t think Dumaine had time to
cast it! But, in order to protect
Rutherford, we’d better bring the
effigies with us, since exorcism of an
unknown quantity is too perilous to
be undertaken at this time. Dumaine
might have used a curse of ele-
mentals.”
“But what about Helen Leonard,
Doctor?” asked Kincaid, miserably.
“Poor girl! I’d give my life to save
her.”
“We’re going right after those
fiends,” snapped Littlejohn. “Let’s
get out of this damnable city at
once.”
Vermilyea, leaning on Littlejohn’s
arm, accompanied them, with the
trustfulness of a child, as they passed
rapidly through the ancient city. It
seemed that, when they had passed
over the gorge, and were glancing
back at the frowning battlements,
they could hear the cries of lost souls
rise from smoldering abysses below.
F rom the peasant cottage, they were
driven to the railway town, where
a makeshift wardrobe was obtained
for Vermilyea, and the Americans
collected their luggage.
“I only hope we’re starting pur¬
suit in the right direction,” said Kin¬
caid, dismally, when the Paris ex-
246
WEIRD TALES
press had gathered speed and was
moving north.
“Paris is our one chance,” de¬
clared the scientist, “and we are
forced to take it.”
A muffled sob sounded in the com¬
partment occupied by the three.
Both men gazed around to see Ver-
milyea’s slender body shaken by
sobs. She was weeping brokenly.
“Have no fear, my child,” con¬
soled the scientist. “We are your
friends. Nothing can harm you now. ”
“Oh, it isn’t that! it isn’t that!”
she cried, in phraseology altogether
changed from that she had used in
her queenly state. “I realize that
you have saved me from some ter¬
rible fate. It is like waking from a
nightmare, where details are vague,
but horror is poignant.”
“You must forget this! You
must!” declared Kincaid, earnestly.
“But, my friends, you have called
me Vermilyea!” she breathed in per¬
plexity. “That is not my name.”
“It isn’t?” queried the scientist,
in pretended surprize. “What is it,
then, my child?”
“My name is Angie Adamson,”
she answered, without hesitation.
“I’m an American, of course; a New
York girl.”
The gray-black eyes were troubled
as she perceived the effect her words
had produced on her companions.
“Not the Angie Adamson who van¬
ished so mysteriously from Paris?”
inquired Kincaid. “Not the heiress
for whom the whole world is being
searched?”
“Perhaps I am,” she laughed,
through her tears. “The name is
mine! And—I am an heiress. Does
the description fit?”
“Not the slightest doubt about it,”
exclaimed Littlejohn, drawing an old
newspaper clipping from his travel¬
ing-bag. * ‘ I discovered your identity
quite by accident, in that strange
city.”
“Won’t you tell us how it hap¬
pened, Miss Adamson?” asked Kin¬
caid, kindly.
Littlejohn’s steady eyes were peer¬
ing at her over his spectacles.
“I remember very little,” she said
slowly, “except that I had been ac¬
customed to visit an out-of-the-way
book stpll in Paris. One day I be¬
came aware that a strange bearded
man was following me with his eyes
staring at me fixedly. His face was
unutterably villainous, with its
swarthiness and its great, burning
eyes.
“I was frightened. I ran hurried¬
ly up the street, and reached home,
exhausted. I thought I had seen the
last of him, but no! One day I
plucked up my courage, and, cross¬
ing the Luxembourg, entered a side
street. The bearded man stepped
suddenly from an alley and blocked
my path. I tried to scream, but his
eyes burned into mine. Everything
went black.”
“Mesmerism!” exclaimed Little¬
john. He handed.her a photograph
of Dumaine. “Was this the man?”
he asked.
Angie screamed and hid her eyes.
“Yes, yes!” she cried. “That is
the bearded man—the very same in¬
dividual ! When—how long ago—did
it happen?” Her voice faltered,
strangely.
“Five years!” answered Little¬
john. “It happened when you were
eighteen. You see, my dear, I am an
inveterate reader of newspapers, and
the case attracted my attention.
But come; cheer up! It hasn’t been
your fault, at all, but it is the result
of ancestral sins. Young people with
‘family trees’—like yourself and
Jack Rutherford—should be careful
about exposure to weird influences.
Why, there are some of us whose
forebears, in the far distant past,
avowed the evil faith! There was one
of mine, for instance.”
“You mean,” queried Angie, in
puzzled tones, “that someone in my
family history-?”
The scientist nodded.
“You, my dear, are the counter¬
part of your beautiful great-great-
THE WITCHES’ SABBATH
247
great-great grand annt. She was a
queen of the Vaudoisie,” he said
softly, at length, “just as you, your¬
self—your other self, Vermilyea—
were, a queen. Dumaine knew your
history. He realized that the title
was yours, and that, once in that
weird city, your other self—Ver¬
milyea—would be in thorough rap¬
port with the influences. He fol¬
lowed you, hut he saw that Angie
Adamson would nevet go willingly.
Therefore, mesmerism-”
Angie shuddered, and fell silent, as
faint memory stirred within her.
T he express drew onto the Quai
D’Orsay, almost before the travel¬
ers were aware that Paris was at
hand. The three alighted from the
coach and went immediately to the
De Tourneur mansion.
The countess embraced Angie,
whose mother she had known in girl¬
hood.
“We must avoid publicity,” cau¬
tioned the psychist, outlining the
story. “There are certain formali¬
ties to be gone through with, but,
you understand, with absolute dis¬
cretion!”
Celestine De Tourneur agreed.
She murmured something about a
telegram, and left the room. She re¬
turned with a blue envelope in her
hand, and passed it to Littlejohn,
who ripped it open.
He whistled in surprize.
“Quick work,” he exclaimed.
“Sir Herbert Downes, of Scotland
Yard, thinks he has Rutherford in
custody. No trace though, of Le
Voyen or Helen.”
“I believe they’re still in Paris,”
declared Kincaid.
“Good hunch, my boy,” spoke the
psychist. “Go, at once, to the Palais
de Justice, and put the gendarmes
to work. In the meantime, I must go
to London. Rutherford must be
saved!”
In his bedroom upstairs, Littlejohn
hauled forth his traveling-bag and
opened it. He gave a start, when he
sighted the effigies, which had been
packed upon the bottom.
The image of Rutherford had been
shattered in transit. Littlejohn
gathered the pieces together, and
went through the process of exor¬
cism, as a precaution. The statue of
Le Voyen he laid intact upon the
mantelpiece, and hurriedly repacked
the valise.
In London, Littlejohn took a taxi¬
cab, and was soon whirled through
the gates of Scotland Yard. He was
ushered immediately before Sir Her¬
bert Downes, the chief, who, besides
being an old friend, was deeply in¬
terested in the psychic.
Sir Herbert greeted the scientist
warmly, a pleased smile hovering in
the comers of his shrewd eyes.
“-a psychic crash,” concluded
the psychist, outlining the story. “A
temporary unbinding, a tipping of
mental balance. It can be corrected,
through exorcism.”
Sir Herbert nodded. He had a vast
respect for Littlejohn’s powers.
He arose and motioned Littlejohn
toward a passage between the cell
blocks. He halted suddenly, farther
on, in front of a comfortably fitted
cell, where a man’s figure pressed
against the bars.
“This is the man,” exclaimed the
chief in a low tone, pressing a key
into the scientist’s hand.
It was Rutherford. His yellow orbs
glared hate and his body strained
against the grill as Littlejohn ap¬
proached, fixing those calm, pene¬
trating eyes upon him. Sir Herbert
watched, silently, a short distance
away.
The subject’s lips writhed, shout¬
ing threats to tear them both to
pieces.
“Iam J’Adon!” he rasped, in deep
fiass tones. “I am J’Adon, the strong
right arm of Attila, the Hun—Attila,
the Great—the favored of Lucifer! I
have slain thousands, and was, my¬
self, slain! Aye, but I shall slay thee,
too! Only open the door!”
248 WEIRD TALES
“Thou eanst not harm me,” spoke
the scientist, never removing his eyes
from the yellow ones. “Thou shalt
be exorcised! Thine ancient nemesis
speaks.”
“Ha! Thou eanst 1 ?” screamed the
fiend. “I defy—curse—laugh at
thee!”
“Speak, fiend!” thundered Little¬
john, advancing with body erect.
“Confess thou hast stolen a body, in
defiance of God!”
“Aye,” grated the fiend, “but
thou eanst not deprive me of it!”
The eyes smoldered greenishly;
the lips babbled in spite of them¬
selves. The hoarse voice spoke: “I
was one of the disembodied, called
back to earth, when the war began.
I weltered in the blood of battlefields,
wallowed in clouds of deadly gas,
and reveled over the bodies of the
dead. I danced in triumph with Le
Voyen, Hermit of the Vosges.
“He offered me the fine young
body of Benedicte, my reincarnated
foe/when the soul emerged from its
sheathing for a minute. With Le
Voyen’s aid, I possessed it and re¬
assumed my princely title. Le Voyen
was to have the wealth of Benedicte,
as well as that of the golden-haired
girl, whom he intended to make his
slave. With this wealth, he would
have spread the religion of the Vau-
dois over the earth.
“I was to have made Vermilyea,
the queen, my chattel, and reigned
as king of the faithful!”
Sir Herbert’s knees sagged. He
was almost overcome by the play of
influences. He recovered himself
with difficulty, as the psychist began
the age-old rites of exorcism.
Littlejohn’s arms raised and de¬
scended swiftly, chanting a Runic
prayer. He held aloft a shining
crucifix; his lips still moved, and his
eyes burned deep into the creature’s.
It seemed now that the cell block
was being swept by a cyclone. High
winds moaned and shrieked about
the three figures, as the light began
to fade.
Sir Herbert saw the figure of Ver-
delet, the medieval satyr, crouch
waiting, in the cell. The walls of the
cell block receded and dissolved. To
Sir Herbert, it seemed that he stood
on a vast desert, watching the scien¬
tist pray, in a gathering curtain of
mist.
With rising hair, he saw two fig¬
ures, so massive that the heads were
lost to view, loom through the fog.
They surrounded the form of Ruther¬
ford, lying there on a dais of rock,
and touched him on the breast.
A brilliant scarlet flash leaped
forth and vanished. The great forms
moved, lifting high a swooning,
cloudy shape, and placed it on the
body.
The two forms merged, instantly.
A soft white glow hovered over the
body for several minutes, and then
expired. The scene went dark.
S ir Herbert had dropped to the
flags unconscious. He awoke to find
Littlejohn bending over him, chafing
his wrists. He arose, unsteadily, and
walked slowly to the end of the cell
block, accompanied by the psychist.
“You were swept into the fourth
dimension,” whispered the scientist.
“But what you saw was very real!
Rutherford’s soul has returned, and
now he is forever free. The satyr
was hovering near to resume the
satanic attachment, but it was ex¬
orcised. The curse is wholly broken. ”
He paused a moment, then con¬
tinued: “Rutherford’s case has de¬
scended through many generations
of ancestors. Centuries ago lived one
of his forebears, to whom he bears
an astonishing likeness. That Ruth¬
erford, a prince of the Vaudois, was
burned at the stake by inquisitors.
It happened in that very same town
where we found this descendant of
the name. Thus, you see, when the
young man came within the influence
of the place, he became en rapport
with forces he couldn’t resist. These
influences, as you have seen, have
only now been dissipated.”
THE WITCHES’ SABBATH
“This only shows what peril is
threatening civilization,” spoke Sir
Herbert, with gravity. “If the world
but realized how many suicides, sud¬
den mysterious deaths, murders, and
other crimes, are due to evil posses¬
sion, there’d be a cry of deliverance,
overnight. People don’t pray enough,
Littlejohn.”
The scientist fixed his shining eyes
upon his friend’s, and nodded.
“How true! How true!” he re¬
plied, earnestly. “How clearly you
see it, Sir Herbert! You are one
of the few high police officials who
understand that the wrongdoer is
more to be pitied than scorned.
Human suffering, and earthly trag¬
edy ! In every case, a psychic reason
is to blame. Even the best of us are
not immune.”
The detective chief placed his
hands upon the shoulders of the little
psychologist, and gazed at him in
admiration.
“Ah,my friend,”he declared, with
feeling, “how blind I was, until you
taught my eyes to see! How unsel¬
fish is your aim to bring the light to
all!”
Littlejohn modestly expressed his
thanks, and quickly changed the sub¬
ject.
The two elderly men moved slowly
through the open cell door and stood
beside the stirring form of Ruther¬
ford. What a change there was in
him! The eyes that opened now, and
stared about in confusion, were the
soft gray of old, and not the blazing
yellow orbs of the possessed.
Rutherford’s memory was restored.
There was no need to bind Sir Her¬
bert to secrecy.
When the embassy man had quite
recovered, the three men walked out
to a waiting cab, where the- chief
bade them good-bye.
L ittlejohn unfolded the story, bit
by bit, as he and Rutherford were
traveling back to Paris.
They repaired immediately to the
De Tourneur mansion, on reaching
the French capital. Half an hour
later, Kincaid telephoned Littlejohn
an important piece of news. Helen
Leonard had been rescued, and was,
at that moment, on the way to the
mansion.
The scientist heard the details
through the receiver. Kincaid had
scoured the city, after the psychist’s
departure for London, in the hope of
finding Helen. It was only after he
had gone back to the mansion by ac¬
cident that he received a telephone
message from the little valet.
‘ ‘ Seddons covered himself with
glory as a detective,” laughed Kin¬
caid over the wire. “He followed us
to Paris, and here lost the trail. He
couldn’t find out where we’d gone.
He spent his time pacing the railway
platforms at Quai D’Orsay, and it
happened, while he was thus en¬
gaged, that he observed Le Yoyen
and Rutherford carry Helen from a
train and ride away in a taxicab.
“The cockney, in another machine,
trailed them to the Latin Quarter,
where he located the building, and
even the apartment, they had en¬
tered. He called the police. Ruther¬
ford and the clairvoyant escaped, but
Helen was found, unharmed, in the
apartment. She was taken to a hos¬
pital, where she remained several
days, to recover.
“They are still searching Paris for
Le Yoyen,” added Kincaid. “Sed¬
dons is leading the chase. He de¬
clares he has a score to settle with
the magician, and wants to settle it
quickly.”
“I should say he has!” declared
Littlejohn, giving briefly the details
of what had happened to Rutherford
in London, and of his complete re¬
covery.
The meeting of Rutherford, Helen
and Kincaid was, indeed, a joyous
one, a short while later, in the De
Tourneur drawing-room. But that
between Rutherford and Angie Ad¬
amson was formal, even strained.
Both apparently felt the influence of
the ancient bond between them, yet
250
WEIRD TALES
neither could explain it, nor recall
what had taken place in that strange
city of the hills.
A kindly, quizzical smile passed
over Littlejohn’s face. Even he
found it difficult to identify the wild,
semi-barbaric beauty of the witch
priestess with the calm loveliness of
this American girl whom he gazed
upon. Nor was it quite easy to com¬
pare the raging, possessed body of
John Rutherford with that of the
cultured embassy man in that draw¬
ing-room.
I t was after luncheon the following
day that Helen Leonard came shy¬
ly up to Dr. Littlejohn, as he stood
gazing at the children at play on the
green carpet of Parc Monceau.
“Dear Doctor,” she spoke earnest¬
ly, softly, with tears welling in her
eyes, “to you and Allan Kincaid, I
owe everything. You have saved not
only Jack Rutherford’s life, but my
own. I am in lifelong debt to you.”
“Now, now, my child,” said the
psychologist, “I am already repaid.
Why, the very privilege of bringing
you two young people together again
is surely enough to satisfy an old
stager such as myself.”
Littlejohn coughed a trifle hard,
as if trying to hide a suspicious mois¬
ture in his eyes.
“But, my dear girl,” he asked in
mock severity, peering over the tops
of his spectacles, “what, in the name
of heaven, caused you to visit that
godless mountain town, with its un¬
holy Cathedral of Horns?”
Helen lowered her eyes.
“Something seemed to draw me
there, irresistibly,” she answered, at
length. * * I discovered a checked map
that you had left behind, and through
that I found the place. It seemed
cowardly to let you two men take
all of the risk.”
Littlejohn mopped his brow with
a handkerchief.
“Whew!” he breathed. “That
does, indeed, explain it! But sinister
influences, together with your de¬
termination to aid, exposed you to a
fate that might have been worse than
death for you! But who will say that
women haven’t analytical minds? At
any rate, I certainly missed that
map! ’ ’
He threw back his head and
laughed merrily.
“Oh, Doctor—you’re making fun
of me!” she admonished. “If any¬
thing had happened to you or to
Allan-”
“Aha! Allan?” inquired Little¬
john with wide-eyed surprize. “Why,
my dear, why not Jack Rutherford?
Wasn’t his salvation, after all, of
greatest importance to you?”
“Oh yes, of course,” added Helen
hastily, blushing in confusion; “of
course it was! But-”
“But--?” echoed the scientist.
“Well, Mister Curiosity, since you
must know, it’s like this,” said Helen
in pretty consternation: “I do care
for Jack, but only as a girl would
care for her brother. Ah, Doctor, but
I love Allan! Oh, I know I’m en¬
gaged to Jack, and that Allan is his
best friend! I feel terribly mean.
And, yet it isn’t fair to Jack-” .
“Or yourself, is it?” added the
scientist. “All right! Now, suppose
that you tell this to Rutherford, at
once, and then tell it to the whole
world; you and Allan!”
“But, Doctor, I don’t under¬
stand ! ’ ’ exclaimed Helen in perplex¬
ity.
Littlejohn beamed. He slapped his
knee, laughing and shaking his
finger, waggishly.
“Why, my dearest Helen,” he ex¬
plained, “only a few minutes ago
John Rutherford and Angie Adam¬
son came to me with a similar story,
themselves. They are deeply in love,
too! But, like you and Allan, they
thought it wouldn’t be right.”
A hasty summons by Littlejohn
brought the four young people
together in the drawing-room. Re¬
straint gave way to happiness when
the scientist had explained just how
THE WITCHES’ SABBATH
251
matters stood. Arm in arm, the quar¬
tet left the mansion, debating upon
the most effective method of reach¬
ing the bureau of marriage licenses.
“You shatterer of illusions—fy!”
scolded Celestine De Tourneur, her
dark eyes dancing with suppressed
laughter. ‘ ‘ Your swift denouement of
the lovers’ paradox was brutal! It
should have been more dramatic and
long drawn out, and the solution
more prolonged. Ah, you would have
spoiled everything for a French¬
woman! You Americans are so di¬
rect.”
Littlejohn laughed.
“You perennial darling of my
youth!” he exclaimed, sighing, in
spite of himself. “Celestine!”
“Arthur Littlejohn!” said the
countess, pretending to be shocked.
“I really do believe you’re growing
sentimental!”
Her dark eyes twinkled, belying
her seriousness.
Littlejohn would have said more,
but at that moment one of the house¬
maids entered the drawing-room and
approached her mistress.
“Madame began the girl, hang¬
ing her face, in embarrassment.
“Pardon me!”
“Yes, Renee?” inquired the count¬
ess, in kindly tone, raising her eye¬
brows. “What is it?”
“Oh, Madame, it was so unfor¬
tunate!” explained the girl, tear¬
fully. “But, at the stroke of noon,
today, I was busily dusting the
mantel in Monsieur the doctor’s
room. My arm, by accident, brushed
from the shelf that wax doll; the
black-bearded image of a man-”
“Yes, yes, go on,” encouraged her
mistress.
“Madame, before I could rescue it,
the doll had fallen into the flames!
It burned up right before my eyes!
It happened so quickly that I couldn’t
prevent it. Oh, I assure Madame
and Monsieur the doctor, it was an
accident! ’ ’
“Of course, Renee,” put in the
scientist, hastily. “It is all right; the
doll was of no consequence.”
The maid sighed with relief, and
curtseyed as she withdraw.
Celestine De Tourneur, regarding
Littlejohn closely, saw his brow knit,
anxiously, as if something were
puzzling him.
“You are sure?” she asked.
“About the doll?”
“Of course! Of course!” he as¬
sured her instantly, his expression
brightening. “Egad, Celestine, I’m
afraid I’m getting to be a day-dream¬
er, looking worried when I’m not.”
Renee had reappeared in the draw¬
ing-room. She held out a card to the
countess. She passed it to Littlejohn,
who nodded.
General La Roque, chief of the
Paris police, was shown in. He en¬
tered the drawing-room, gallantly
doffing his gold-crested chapeau to
the countess, and seizing the hand of
Littlejohn, who had stepped forward
to meet him.
La Roque seated himself between
them. He was a handsome figure of
a military man, whose strong fea¬
tures were enhanced by his short-
cropped hair, just beginning to turn
gray.
“I may speak in the presence of
Madame?” inquired La Roque, def¬
erentially, glancing from the countess
to the psychologist.
“Of course, Monsieur le Gen¬
eral,” smiled Celestine De Tourneur:
“unless, of course, it is best that I
withdraw. ’ ’
“It is not necessary, Madame,**
added Littlejohn, quickly.
The general nodded.
“This valet, Seddons,” began the
officer, “is a detective genius! He
trapped this devil, Le Yoyen, very
neatly, this morning.”
“Wliat?” exclaimed the scientist.
“Le Voyen caught?”
“Yes,” replied the chief; “by fate
itself, it seems. Seddons sighted him
on the Seine embankment, and noti¬
fied my men. They gave chase. Le
252
WEIRD TALES
Voyen ran, like a deer, toward the
Pont Varennes, but, finding it
closed for repairs, dashed across the
wooden structure paralleling it,
which is being used temporarily to
divert traffic.
“He had just passed the center of
the bridge, when—pouf!—the draw
is swung open to permit a boat to
pass. My men could not cross the
gap, and were forced to see Le Yoyen
go toward liberty, with further pur¬
suit foiled. The gendarmes dared not
shoot because of the crowd. They
watched him move away.”
“And-?” interrupted the scien¬
tist.
“It was most strange, Monsieur
continued the general, “but Le Voy-
cn had gone only a few steps of his
flight when he threw up his hands
and uttered a terrible scream. Flames
shot from his clothing and wrapped
about his body, as fire does a resinous
fagot!
“A roaring pillar, a human torch
of fire, Le Voyen staggered back to
the open draw and leaped into the
Seine below. My men rushed back
and got boats, but in vain. It was too
late. Le Voyen was dead. His body
was burnt to a crisp. Zounds, Mon¬
sieur, but I can not understand it!”
“What time did this take place?”
asked the psychologist, tensely.
“Exactly at noon,” replied the
Frenchman. “My men heard the
bells of Notre Dame strike, just as
Le Voyen burst out into flames. But
why, Monsieur, do you ask?”
“Out of curiosity,” exclaimed
Littlejohn, sinking back into his
chair; “out of mere curiosity, that’s
all.”
[THE END]
DIRGE
By LEAVENWORTH MACNAB
Cold, gray and drizzly drifts the dreary day—
Drifts to the gloom-girt shores, within the West—
And cowering sinks before Night’s spectral sway
To troubled rest.
The lowering heaven lends no guiding light;
Wild, black-winged shades her flickering beams debar;
Save in the East there gleameth, coldly bright,
One lonely star,
Shedding its tearful beams aslant thy grave
Where sear and shivering droop wind-blighted flowers
That, like death plumes, above my lost love wave
Through dragging hours.
0 cloud-bound night and naked, sighing trees!
0 wailing winds and mad waves making moan!
Thy wo-tuned voices chant her litanies—
Love, Life is flown.
Th&Venoe&nce-
or-
THOMASLAtilERWllt.
j r
“Much pleasure might she derive by recalliug
that picture.”
1. Osiris Is Avenged.
H USHED were the streets of
many-peopled Thebes. Those
few who passed through them
moved with the shadowy fleetness of
bats near dawn, and bent their faces
from the sky as if fearful of seeing
what in their fancies might be hover¬
ing there. Weird, high-noted incan¬
tations of a wailing sound were audi¬
ble through the barred doors. On
corners groups of naked and bleed¬
ing priests cast themselves repeated¬
ly and with loud cries upon the rough
stones of the walks. Even dogs and
cats and oxen seemed impressed by
some strange menace and forebod¬
ing and cowered and slunk dejected¬
ly. All Thebes was in dread. And
indeed there was cause for their
dread and for their wails of lamen¬
tation. A terrible sacrilege had been
committed. In all the annals of
Egypt none more monstrous was re¬
corded.
Five days had the altar fires of the
god of gods, Osiris, been left unburn¬
ing. Even for one moment to allow
darkness upon the altars of the god
was considered by the priests to be
a great offense against him. Whole
years of dearth and famine had been
known to result from such an of¬
fense. But now the altar fires had
been deliberately extinguished, and
left extinguished for five days. It
was an unspeakable sacrilege.
Hourly there was expectancy of
some great calamity to befall. Per-
254
WEIRD TALES
haps within the approaching night a
mighty earthquake would shake the
city to the ground, or a fire from
heaven would sweep upon them, a
hideous plague strike them or some
monster from the desert, where wild
and terrible monsters were said to
dwell, would rush upon them and
Osiris himself would rise up, as he
had done before, and swallow all
Egypt in his wrath. Surely some
such dread catastrophe would befall
them ere the week had passed. Un¬
less—unless the sacrilege were
avenged.
But how might it be avenged?
That was the question high lords and
priests debated. Pharaoh alone had
committed the sacrilege. It was he,
angered because the bridge, which
he had spent five years in construct¬
ing so that one day he might cross
the Nile in his chariot as he had once
boasted that he would do, had been
swept away by the rising waters.
Raging with anger, he had flogged
the priests from the temple. He had
barred the temple doors and with his
own breath had blown out the sacred
candles. He had defiled the hallowed
altars with the carcasses of beasts.
Even, it was said in low, shocked
whispers, in a mock ceremony of
worship he had burned the carrion
of a hyena, most abhorrent of all
beasts to Osiris, upon the holy altar
of gold, which even the most high
of priests forbore to lay naked hands
upon!
Surely, even though he be pharaoh,
ruler of all Egypt and holder of the
golden eagle, he could not be per¬
mitted to commit such violent sac¬
rileges without punishment from
man. The god Osiris was waiting for
them to inflict that punishment, and
if they failed to do it, upon them
would come a scourge from heaven.
Standing before the awed assembly
of nobles, the high Kha Semblor
made a gesture with his hands. A
cry broke from those who watched.
Sentence had been delivered. Death
had been pronounced as doom for
the pharaoh.
The heavy, barred doors were
shoved open. The crowd came out, and
within an hour a well-organized mob
passed though the streets of Thebes,
directed for the palace of the pha¬
raoh. Mob justice was to be done.
Within the resplendent portals
of the palace the pharaoh, ruler of all
Egypt, watched with tightened brow
the orderly but menacing approach
of the mob. He divined their intent.
But was he not their pharaoh? He
could contend with gods, so why
should he fear mere dogs of men?
A woman clung to his stiffened
arm. She was tall and as majesti¬
cally handsome as he. A garb of
linen, as brilliantly golden as the
sun, entwined her body closely, and
bands of jet were around her throat
and forehead. She was the fair and
well-loved Nitocris, sister of the
pharaoh.
“Brother, brother!" she cried;
“light the fires! Pacify the dogs!
They come to kill you."
Only more stern grew the look of
the pharaoh. He thrust aside his
pleading sister, and beckoned to the
attendants.
“Open the doors!"
Startled, trembling, the men
obeyed.
The haughty lord of Egypt drew
his sword from its sheath. He slashed
the air with a stroke that would
have severed stone. Out on the steep
steps leading between tall, colored
pillars to the doors of the palace he
stepped. The people saw him. A
howl rose from their lips.
“Light the fires!"
The figure of the pharaoh stood
inflexible as rock. Superbly tall and
muscular, his bare arms and limbs
glittering like burnished copper in
the light of the brilliant sun, his body
erect and tense in his attitude of de¬
fiance, he looked indeed a mortal fit
almost to challenge gods.
THE VENGEANCE OF NITOCRIS
255
The mob, led by the black-robed
priests and nobles who had arrived
at the foot of the steps, now fell back
before the stunning, magnificent de¬
fiance of their giant ruler. They felt
like demons who had assailed the
heavens and had been abashed and
shamed by the mere sight of that
which they had assailed. A hush fell
over them. Their upraised arms fal¬
tered and sank down. A moment
more and they would have fallen to
their knees.
What happened then seemed
nothing less than a miracle. In his
triumph and exultation, the pharaoh
had been careless of the crumbling
edges of the steps. Centuries old,
there were sections of these steps
which were falling apart. Upon such
a section had the gold-sandaled foot
of the pharaoh descended, and it was
not strong enough to sustain his
great weight. With a scuttling sound
it broke loose. A gasp came from the
mob—the pharaoh was about to fall.
He was palpitating, wavering in the
air, fighting to retain his balance.
He looked as if he were grappling
with some monstrous, invisible snake,
coiled about his gleaming body. A
hoarse cry burst from his lips; his
sword fell; and then his body thud¬
ded down the steps in a series of
wild somersaults, and landed at the
foot, sprawled out before the gasp¬
ing mob. For a moment there was
breathless silence. And then came
the shout of a priest.
“A sign from the god!”
That vibrant cry seemed to restore
the mob to all of its wolflike rage.
They surged forward. The struggling
body of the pharaoh was lifted up
and torn to pieces by their clawing
hands and weapons. Thus was the
god Osiris avenged.
2. A Pharaoh Is Avenged.
A week later another large assem¬
bly of persons confronted the
brilliant-pillared palace. This time
they were there to acknowledge a
ruler, not to slay one. The week be¬
fore they had rended the pharaoh
and now they were proclaiming his
sister empress. Priests had declared
that it was the will of the gods that
she should succeed her brother. She
was famously beautiful, pious, and
wise. The people were not reluctant
to accept her.
When she was borne down the
steps of the palace in her rich litter,
after the elaborate ceremony of coro¬
nation had been concluded, she re¬
sponded to the cheers of the multi¬
tude with a smile which could not
have appeared more amicable and
gracious. None might know from
that smile upon her beautiful car-
mined lips that within her heart she
was thinking, “These are the people
who slew my brother. Ah, god Issus
grant me power to avenge his death
upon them!”
Not long after the beauteous
Nitocris mounted the golden throne
of Egypt, rumors were whispered of
some vast, mysterious enterprise be¬
ing conducted in secret. A large
number of slaves were observed each
dawn to embark upon barges and to
be carried down the river to some
unknown point, where they labored
throughout the day, returning after
dark. The slaves were Ethiopians,
neither able to speak nor to under¬
stand the Egyptian language, and
therefore no information could be
gotten from them by the curious as
to the object of their mysterious
daily excursions. The general
opinion, though, was that the pious
queen was having a great temple con¬
structed to the gods and that when
it was finished, enormous public ban¬
quets would be held within it before
its dedication. She meant it to be a
surprize gift to the priests who were
ever desirous of some new place of
worship and were dissatisfied with
their old altars, which they said were
defiled.
Throughout the winter the slaves
repeated daily their excursions.
256
WEIRD TALES
Traffic of all kinds plying down the
river was restricted for several
miles to within forty yards of one
shore. Any craft seen to disregard
that restriction was set upon by a
galley of armed men and pursued
back into bounds. All that could be
learned was that a prodigious temple
or hall of some sort was in construc¬
tion.
It was late in the spring when the
excursions of the workmen were
finally discontinued. Restrictions
upon river traffic were withdrawn.
The men who went eagerly to inves¬
tigate the mysterious construction
returned with tales of a magnificent
new temple, surrounded by rich,
green, tropical verdure, situated near
the bank of the river. It was a temple
to the god Osiris. It had been built
by the queen probably that she might
partly atone for the sacrilege of her
brother and deliver him from some
of the torture which he undoubtedly
suffered. It was to be dedicated
within the month by*a great banquet.
All the nobles and the high priests
of Osiris, of which there were a tre¬
mendous number, were to be invited.
Never had the delighted priests
been more extravagant in their
praises of Queen Nitocris. When
she passed through the streets in her
open litter, bedazzling eyes by the
glitter of her golden ornaments, the
cries of the people were almost
frantic in their exaltation of her.
True to the predictions of the gos-
sipers, before the month had passed
the banquet had been formally an¬
nounced and to all the nobility and
the priests of Osiris had been issued
invitations to attend.
The day of the dedication, which
was to be followed by the night of
banqueting, was a gala holiday. At
noon the guests of the empress
formed a colorful assembly upon the
bank of the river. Gayly draped
barges floated at their moorings until
preparations should be completed for
the transportation of the guests to
the temple. All anticipated a holiday
of great merriment, and the lustful
epicureans were warmed by visuali¬
zations of the delightful banquet of
copious meats, fruits, luscious deli¬
cacies and other less innocent indul¬
gences.
When the queen arrived, elamorous
shouts rang deafeningly in her ears.
She responded with charming smiles
and gracious bows. The most dis¬
cerning observer could not have de¬
tected anything but the greatest cor¬
diality and kindliness reflected in her
bearing toward those around her. No
action, no fleeting expression upon
her lovely face could have caused
anyone to suspect anything except
entire amicability in her feelings or
her intentions. The rats, as they fol¬
lowed the Pied Piper of Hamelin
through the streets, entranced by the
notes of his magical pipe, could not
have been less apprehensive of any
great danger impending them than
were the guests of the empress as
they followed her in gayly draped
barges, singing and laughing down
the sun-glowing waters of the Nile.
The most vivid descriptions of
those who had already seen the tem¬
ple did not prepare the others for the
spectacle of beauty and grandeur
- which it presented. Gasps of delight
came from the priests. What a place
in which to conduct their cere¬
monies ! They began to feel that the
sacrilege of the dead pharaoh was
not, after all, to be so greatly re¬
gretted, since it was responsible for
the building of this glorious new
temple.
The columns were massive and
painted with the greatest artistry.
The temple itself was proportionate¬
ly large. The center of it was un¬
roofed. Above the entrance were
carved the various symbols of the
god Osiris, with splendid workman¬
ship. The building was immensely
big, and against the background of
green foliage it presented a picture
of almost breath-taking beauty.
THE VENGEANCE OF NITOCRIS
257
Ethiopian attendants stood on each
side of the doorway, their shining
black bodies ornamented with bands
of brilliant gold. On the interior the
guests were inspired to even greater
wonderment. The walls were hung
with magnificent painted tapestries.
The altars were more beautifully and
elaborately carved than any seen
before. Aromatic powders were
burning upon them and sending up
veils of scented smoke. The sacra¬
mental vessels were of the most ex¬
quisite and costly metals. Golden
coffers and urns were piled high with
perfect fruits of all kinds.
Ah, yes—a splendid place for the
making of sacrifices, gloated the
staring priests.
Ah, yes indeed, agreed the queen
Nitoeris, smiling with half-closed
eyes, it was a splendid place for sac¬
rifices—especially for the human sac¬
rifice that had been planned. But all
who observed that guileful smile in¬
terpreted it as gratification over the
pleasure which her creation in honor
of their god had brought to the
priests of Osiris. Not the slightest
shadow of portent was upon the
hearts of the joyous guests.
The ceremony of dedication occu¬
pied the whole of the afternoon. And
when it drew to its impressive con¬
clusion, the large assembly, their
nostrils quivering from the savory
odor of the roasting meats, were fully
ready and impatient for the banquet
that awaited them. They gazed
about them, observing that the whole
building composed an unpartitioned
amphitheater and wondering where
might be the room of the banquet.
However, when the concluding pro¬
cessional chant had been completed,
the queen summoned a number of
burly slaves, and by several iron
rings attached to its outer edges they
lifted up a large slab of the flooring,
disclosing to the astonished guests
the fact that the scene of the banquet
was to be an immense subterranean
vault.
Such vaults were decidedly un¬
common among the Egyptians. The
idea of feasting in one was novel and
appealing. Thrilled exclamations
came from the eager, excited crowd
and they pressed forward to gaze
into the depths, now brightly illumi¬
nated. They saw a room beneath
them almost as vast in size as the
amphitheater in which they were
standing. It was filled with banquet
tables upon which were set the most
delectable foods and rich, sparkling
wines in an abundance that would
satiate the banqueters of Bacchus.
Luxurious, thick rugs covered the
floors. Among the tables passed
nymphlike maidens, and at one end
of the room harpists and singers
stood, making sublime music.
The air was cool with the damp¬
ness of under-earth, and it was
made delightfully fragrant by the
perfumes of burning spices and the
savory odors of the feast. If it had
been heaven itself which the crowd
of the queen’s guests now gazed
down upon they would not have con¬
sidered the vision disappointing. Per¬
haps even if they had known the
hideous menace that lurked in those
gay-draped walls beneath them, they
would still have found the allure¬
ment of the banquet scene difficult to
resist.
T"'Yecorum and reserve were almost
completely forgotten in the swift¬
ness of the guests’ descent. The
stairs were not wide enough to af¬
ford room for all those who rushed
upon them, and some tumbled over,
landing unhurt upon the thick car¬
pets. The priests themselves forgot
their customary dignity and aloof¬
ness when they looked upon the
beauty of the maiden attendants.
Immediately all of the guests
gathered around the banquet tables,
and the next hour was occupied in
gluttonous feasting. Wine was un¬
limited and so was the thirst of the
258
WEIRD TALES
guests. Goblets were refilled as
quickly as they were made empty by
the capacious mouths of the drink¬
ers. The songs and the laughter, the
dancing and the wild frolicking grew
less and less restrained until the ban¬
quet became a delirious orgy.
The queen alone, seated upon a
cushioned dais from which she might
overlook the whole room, remained
aloof from the general hilarity. Her
thick black brows twitched; her
luminous black eyes shone strangely
between their narrow painted lids.
There was something peculiarly fe¬
line in the curl of her rich red lips.
Now and again her eyes sought the
section of wall to her left, where
hung gorgeous braided tapestries
from the East. But it seemed not the
tapestries that she looked upon.
Color would mount upon her brow
and her slender fingers would dig
still tighter into the cushions she re¬
clined upon.
In her mind the queen Nitocris was
seeing a ghastly picture. It was the
picture of a room of orgy and feast¬
ing suddenly converted into a room
of terror and horror; human beings
one moment drunken and lustful, the
next screaming in the seizure of sud¬
den and awful death. If any of those
present had been empowered to see
also that picture of dire horror, they
would have clambered wildly to
make their escape. But none was so
empowered.
With increasing wildness the ban¬
quet continued into the middle of
the night. Some of the banqueters,
disgustingly gluttonous, still gorged
themselves at the greasy tables.
Others lay in drunken stupor, or
lolled amorously with the slave-girls.
But most of them, formed in a great,
irregular circle, skipped about the
room in a barbaric, joy-mad dance,
dragging and tripping each other in
uncouth merriment and making the
hall ring with their ceaseless shouts,
laughter, and hoarse song.
When the hour had approached
near to midnight, the queen, who had
sat like one entranced, arose from
the cushioned dais. One last intent
survey she gave to the crowded room
of banquet. It was a scene which she
wished to imprint permanently upon
her mind. Much pleasure might she
derive in the future by recalling that
picture, and then imagining what
came afterward—stark, searing ter¬
ror rushing in upon barbaric joy!
She stepped down from the dais
and walked swiftly to the steps. Her
departure made no impression upon
the revelers. When she had arrived
at the top of the stairs she looked
down and observed that no one had
marked her exit.
Around the walls of the temple,
dim-lit and fantastic-looking at
night, with the cool wind from the
river sweeping through and bending
the flames of the tall candelabra,
stalwart guardsmen were standing at
their posts, and when the gold-
cloaked figure of the queen arose
from the aperture, they advanced
toward her hurriedly. With a mo¬
tion, she directed them to place the
slab of rock in its tight-fitting socket.
With a swift, noiseless hoist and
lowering, they obeyed the command.
The queen bent down. There was no
change in the boisterous sounds from
below. Nothing was yet suspected.
Drawing the soft and shimmering
folds of her cloak about her with
fingers that trembled with eagerness,
excitement and the intense emotion
which she felt, the queen passed
swiftly across the stone floor of the
temple toward the open front through
which the night wind swept, blowing
her cloak in sheenful waves about
her tall and graceful figure. The
slaves followed after in silent file,
well aware of the monstrous deed
about to be executed and without re¬
luctance to play their parts.
Down the steps of the palace into
the moon-white night passed the
weird procession. Their way led
them down an obviously secreted
THE VENGEANCE OF NITOCRIS
259
path through thick ranks of murmur¬
ing palms which in their low voices
seemed to be whispering shocked re¬
monstrances against what was about
to be done. But in her stern purpose
the queen was not susceptible to any
dissuasion from god or man. Ven¬
geance, strongest of passions, made
her obdurate as stone.
Out upon a rough and apparently
new-constructed stone pier the thin
path led. Beneath, the cold, dark
waters of the Nile surged silently
by. Here the party came to a halt.
Upon this stone pier would the ob¬
ject of their awful midnight errand
be accomplished.
With a low-spoken word, the queen
commanded her followers to hold
back. With her own hand she would
perform the act of vengeance.
In the foreground of the pier a
number of fantastic, wandlike levers
extended upward. Toward these the
queen advanced, slowly and stiffly
as an executioner mounts the steps
of the scaffold. When she had come
beside them, she grasped one up¬
thrust bar, fiercely, as if it had been
the throat of a hated antagonist.
Then she lifted her face with a quick
intake of breath toward the moon-
lightened sky. This was to her a mo¬
ment of supreme ecstasy. Grasped
in her hand was an instrument which
could release awful death upon those
against whom she wished vengeance.
Their lives were as securely in her
grasp as was this bar of iron.
Slowly, lusting upon every tri¬
umph-filled second of this time of
ecstasy, she turned her face down
again to the formidable bar in her
hand. Deliberately she drew it back
to its limit. This was the lever that
opened the wall in the banquet vault.
It gave entrance to death. Only the
other bar now intervened between
the banqueters, probably still revel¬
ing undisturbed, and the dreadful
fate which she had prepared for
them. Upon this bar now her jeweled
fingers clutched. Savagely this time
she pulled it; then with the litheness
of a tiger she sprang to the edge of
the pier. She leaned over it and
stared down into the inky rush of the
river. A new sound she heard above
the steady flow. It was the sound of
waters suddenly diverted into a new
channel—an eager, plunging sound.
Down to the hall of revelry they
were rushing—these savage waters—
bringing terror and sudden death.
A cry of triumph, wild and ter¬
rible enough to make even the hearts
of the brutish slaves turn cold, now
broke from the lips of the queen.
The pharaoh was avenged.
And even he must have considered
his avenging adequate had he been
able to witness it.
\ fter the retiring of the queen, the
banquet had gone on without
interruption of gayety. None noticed
her absence. None noticed the silent
replacing of the stone in its socket.
No premonition of disaster was felt.
The musicians, having been informed
beforehand of the intended event of
the evening, had made their with¬
drawal before the queen. The slaves,
whose lives were of little value to the
queen, were as ignorant of what was
to happen as were the guests them¬
selves.
Not until the wall opened up, with
a loud and startling crunch, did
even those most inclined toward sus¬
picion feel the slightest uneasiness.
Then it was that a few noticed the
slab to have been replaced, shutting
them in. This discovery, communi¬
cated throughout the hall in a mo¬
ment, seemed to instill a sudden fear
in the hearts of all. Laughter did
not cease, but the ring of dancers
were distracted from their wild jubi¬
lee. They all turned toward the
mysteriously opened wall and gazed
into its black depths.
A hush fell over them. And then
became audible the mounting sound
260
WEIRD TALES
of rushing water. . A shriek rose from
the throat .of, a woman. And then
terror took' possession of all within
the room. Panic like the burst of
flames flared into their hearts. Of
one accord, they rushed upon the
stair. And it, being purposely made
frail, collapsed before the foremost of
the wildly screaming mob had
reached its summit. Turbulently
they piled over the tables, filling the
room with a hideous clamor. But
rising above their screams was the
shrill roar of the rushing water, and
no sound could be more provoking
of dread and terror. Somewhere in
its circuitous route from the pier to
the chamber of its reception it must
have met with temporary blockade,
for it was several minutes after the
sound of it was first detected that the
first spray of that death-bringing
water leapt into the faces of the
doomed occupants of the room.
With the ferocity of a lion spring¬
ing into the arena of a Roman amphi¬
theater to devour the gladiators set
there for its delectation, the black
water plunged in. Furiously it
surged over the floor of the room,
sweeping tables before it and sending
its victims, now face to face with
their harrowing doom, into a hysteria
of terror. In a moment that icy,
black water had risen to their knees,
although the room was vast. Some
fell instantly dead from the shock, or
were trampled upon by the desperate
rushing of the mob. Tables were
clambered upon. Lamps and candles
were extinguished. Brilliant light
rapidly faded to twilight, and a
ghastly dimness fell over the room as
only the suspended lanterns re¬
mained lit. And what a scene of
chaotic and hideous horror might a
spectator have beheld! The gorgeous
trumpery of banquet invaded by
howling waters of death! Gayly
dressed merrymakers caught sudden¬
ly in the grip of terror! Gasps and
screams of the dying amid tumult
and thickening dark!
: What more horrible vengeance
could Queen Nitocris have conceived
than this banquet of death? Not
Diablo himself could be capable of
anything more fiendishly artistic.
Here in the temple of Osiris those
nobles and priests who had slain the
pharaoh in expiation of his sacrilege
against Osiris had now met their
deaths. And it was in the waters of
the Nile, material symbol of the god
Osiris, that they had died. It was
magnificent in its irony!
1 would be content to end this story
here if it were but a story. How¬
ever, it is not merely a story, as you
■ will have discerned before now if you
have been a student of the history of
Egypt. Queen Nitocris is not a
fictitious personage. In the annals
of ancient Egypt she is no incon¬
spicuous figure. Principally respon¬
sible for her prominence is her mon¬
strous revenge upon the slayers of
her brother, the narration of which
I have just concluded. Glad would I
be to end this story here; for surely
anything following must -be in the
nature of an anticlimax. However,
being not a mere story-teller here, but
having upon me also the responsibil¬
ity of a historian, I feel obliged to
continue the account to the point
where it was left off by Herodotus,
the great Greek historian. And
therefore I add this postscript, anti¬
climax though it be.
The morning of the day after the
massacre in the temple, the guests of
the queen not having made their re¬
turn, the citizens of Thebes began to
glower with dark suspicions. Rumors
came to them through divers chan¬
nels that something of a most extraor¬
dinary and calamitous nature had
occurred at the scene of the banquet
during the night. Some had it that
the temple had collapsed upon the
(Continued on page 288)
Three Poems in Prose
By CHARLES BAUDELAIRE
(Translated by Clark Ashton Smith)
L* Irreparable
I
C AN we stifle the old, the long
Remorse, who lives and moves
and twists and turns, and
feeds upon us like the worm upon the
dead, or like the caterpillar upon the
oak? Can we stifle the implacable
Remorse?
In what philtre, in what wine, in
what magistral, may we drown this
ancient enemy, gluttonous and de¬
structive like the courtezan, patient
like the ant? In what philtre?—in
what wine?—in what magistral?
Tell it, fair sorceress, oh! tell, if
thou dost know, to a spirit crushed
with anguish, and like to one who is
overwhelmed by mortal wounds and
bruised by the hoofs of horses; tell it,
fair sorceress, oh! tell, if thou dost
know, to this dying wretch whom the
wolf already smells, and whom the
crow surveys; to this broken soldier
who must needs despair of having his
cross and his tomb; this dying wretch
whom the wolf already smells!
Can one illuminate a black and
muddy sky? Can one tear apart the
darkness more dense than pitch, with¬
out mom and without even, without
stars, without funereal lightnings?
Can one illuminate a black and
muddy sky?
Our hope, that burned in the panes
of the tavern, is blown out, is dead
forever! Without moon and without
rays, to find where lodge the martyrs
of an evil road! The Devil has put
out all the panes of the tavern!
Adorable sorceress, dost thou love
the damned? Say, dost thou know
the irretrievable? Dost thou know Re¬
morse, with the envenomed darts, for
whom our heart serves as target?
Adorable sorceress, dost thou love the
damned?
The Irreparable gnaws with its ac¬
cursed teeth; it gnaws our soul, a
piteous monument, and often, like the
termite, it attacks the edifice by the
foundation. The Irreparable gnaws
with its accursed teeth.
II
I have seen, sometimes, in the midst
of a common theater, enkindled by the
sonorous orchestra, a Fay who
relumes a miraculous dawn in an in¬
fernal sky; I have seen, sometimes, in
the midst of a common theater, a Be¬
ing, wholly made of light and gold
and gauze, who casts to the earth an
enormous Satan; but my heart, for¬
ever unvisited by ecstasy, is like a
theater where one awaits in vain,
always in vain, the Being with the
wings of gauze!
Les Sept Vieillards
C warming city, city full of dreams,
^ where the phantom in full day
picks up the passer! Mysteries flow
everywhere like sap in the narrow
ducts of the mighty Colossus.
One morning, while in the sad
street the houses, whose height was in¬
creased by the fog, resembled the two
quays of a fallen river, and a foul
and yellow mist had inundated space,
—a setting like the soul of an actor,—
I went forth, stiffening my nerves
like a hero and debating with my soul
already tired, to follow the streets of
262
WEIRD TALES
the suburb shaken by heavy dust¬
carts.
All at once, there appeared to me
an old man whose yellow tatters
imitated the colors of the watery sky,
and whose aspect would have brought
down a rain of alms without the ma¬
lignity that glittered in his eyes. One
would have said that his pupils were
drenched in gall; frost sharpened his
regard, and his beard of long hairs,
stiff as a sword, projected like the
beard of Judas.
He was not bowed but broken, his
spine making a perfect right angle
with his leg, so that his walking-stick,
which served to complete the picture,
gave him the figure and the awkward
pace of an infirm quadruped or a Jew
with three feet. He went on, impeded
by the snow and the mire, as if he
crushed the dead beneath his worn-out
shoes; hostile to the universe rather
than indifferent.
His double followed him; beard,
eye, back, stick, tatters, nothing dis¬
tinguished this centenarian twin, who
had come from the same hell; and
these baroque specters walked with
the same pace toward an unknown
goal.
To what infamous complot was I
then exposed, or what evil chance
humiliated me thus? For I counted
seven times, from minute to minute,
this sinister old man who multiplied
himself before me!
Let him who laughs at my dis¬
quietude, him- who has never been
seized by a fraternal shudder, know
well that despite so much decrepitude
these seven hideous monsters had the
air of eternal things!
Could I, then, without dying, have
contemplated the eighth, inexorable,
ironic and fatal double, disgusting
Phoenix, the son and father of him¬
self?—But I turned my back to the
infernal cortege.
Exasperated like a sot who sees
double, I returned; I closed my door,
terrified, ill and benumbed, my spirit
feverish and troublous, wounded by
mystery and by absurdity!
Vainly my reason wished to cross
the bar; the playing storm defeated
all its efforts, and my soul danced and
danced, an old barge without masts,
upon a monstrous sea that had no
shores.
Une Charogne
emembee, my soul, the thing we
saw on that beautiful morning of
sweet summer: beside the path an in¬
famous carrion on a couch sown with
pebbles, its legs in the air like a
lascivious woman burning and sweat¬
ing her poisons, laid open in a cynical
and nonchalant manner its belly
filled with exhalations.
The sun shone down upon this
putrefaction, as if to cook it to a turn,
and render back a hundredfold to
great nature all that she had joined
together; and the sky saw the superb
carcass unfold like a flower. The
fetor was so powerful that you be¬
lieved you would swoon on the grass.
The flies hummed on the putrid
belly, where issued black battalions of
larvas that flowed along these living
tatters like a thick liquid. All these
descended and mounted like a wave,
or darted forth in sparklings; one
would have said the body lived and
multiplied, swollen by a vague breath.
And this world gave forth a strange
music, as of wind and running water,
or the grain that a winnower agitates
and turns with his fan in rhythmic
movements.
The forms withdrew and faded, and
were no more than a dream, an out¬
line that is slow to arrive on the for¬
getful canvas, and is finished by the
artist from memory alone.
Behind the rocks a restless bitch re¬
garded us with an angry eye, watch¬
ing for the moment to retrieve from
the skeleton a morsel she had let fall.
-And still you will be like this
ordure, this horrible infection, star of
my eyes, and sun of my being, you,
my angel and my passion! Yes, such
THREE POEMS IN PROSE
you will be, 0 queen of graces, after
the final sacraments, when you have
gone, beneath the grass and the rich
flowers, to mold among the bones of
the dead.
Then, 0 my beauty! say to the
worms who will devour you with
kisses, that I have kept in memory the
form and the divine essence of my
decomposed loves!
"2 Marlow Wonderfully Preserved Relics
T HE zeal of the early and me¬
dieval Christians, and the
yearning for some tangible
souvenir of the founders of the reli¬
gion, coupled with the general child¬
like belief in rumor, brought about
the preservation of a quantity of rel¬
ics, great numbers of which could not
have been other than spurious. For
example, there would be skulls in
several churches, all claimed to have
been originally in the head of the
same saint; and in some cases,
enough bones of a single saint were
scattered over Europe to have made
up several complete skeletons.
The famous Iron Crown of Lom¬
bardy was said to contain one of the
nails used in the Crucifixion, though
the actual history of the crown can
be traced no farther back than the
Ninth Century. Gregory of Tours
said that another of the nails
was thrown into the Adriatic by
Queen Radegunda, rendering it
therewith one of the safest seas in
the world to navigate.
One church in Rome claimed a
tooth of St. Peter, another of St.
Paul, a part of the chemise of the
Virgin Mary, a part of Christ’s gir¬
dle, a piece of Moses’ rod, some of
the earth on which Christ prayed,
the reed and sponge used at the Cru¬
cifixion, three spines of the Crown
of Thorns, a part of the towel with
which Christ washed His disciples’
feet, part of the swaddling clothes in
which He was wrapped at His na¬
tivity, and a part of the shroud in
which He was buried. One of the
Savior’s tears was formerly pre¬
served at Vendome, France.
D’Aubigne tells us that in the
Church of All Saints at Wittenberg
were shown a fragment of Noah’s
Ark, some soot from the Babylonian
furnace in which the three Hebrew
children, Shadrach, Meshach and
Abednego, were so miraculously pre¬
served, and nineteen thousand other
relics. At Scliaffhausen was kept
the breath of St. Joseph, which
Nicodemus had received in his
glove! Wurttemberg had a feather
from the wing of the Archangel
Michael. St. Augustine (354-430
A. D.) said that in his day
people were still going to see the
dung-heap on which Job had sat—
although the Book of Job was writ¬
ten at least seven to ten centuries
before his time.
A Grim 'Tale of Torture Is
THE JUSTICE OF
THE CZAR
By CAPTAIN GEORGE FIELDING ELIOT
D IMITRI MININ, chief execu¬
tioner of the prison of St.
Peter and St. Paul, rose from
his seat as an imperative knock clat¬
tered at the door of Ills quarters, high
in the north tower.
“Be at ease, Tasia, ’ ’ he said to his
wife, who had also started up. “I
have many a summons lately, since
this conspiracy against the holy per¬
son of His Majesty has been discov¬
ered. Doubtless it is but some wretch¬
ed boyar to be put to the question.”
He flung open the door. In the
shadows of the stair-landing the light
of a guard lantern gleamed on the
accouterments of a sergeant of the
Praeobajensky Regiment.
“To the lower dungeons, butcher!”
snapped the soldier. “Quickly—you
are wanted!”
“Dog!” retorted Minin. “Is it
thus that you address an official of
the Czar’s household? Perhaps—you
would like to feel the butcher’s hands
at work on you?”
He extended his long, powerful,
sinewy hands toward the man, open¬
ing and closing the fingers sugges¬
tively.
“With the hot pincers, eh?” he
added.
The soldier shuddered visibly. “No,
no, good Dimitri!” he said. “I but
spoke in haste. Yet come quickly,
for it is the governor’s own order!”
Dimitri nodded.
“I come,” he said, and flinging a
black cloak round his shoulders he
stepped out on the landing.
264
“I think I shall not be long, Ta¬
sia,” he said. “Have a bit of soup
warm against my return—those dun¬
geons are chill enough, all of them,
but the lower dungeons especially!”
He closed the door behind him and
followed the sergeant down the nar¬
row, winding stair.
D own, down through the heart of
the grim prison-fortress, past
the guardroom, past the doors open¬
ing into the great hall, down to the
cellars; then past a little iron door
leading to the upper dungeons, and
still the stair descended into black,
dank chill—along a corridor, lit only
by a single torch guttering in the
cold air; then another iron door. Here
Dimitri knocked, with a peculiar se¬
quence ; and instantly chains and
bolts rattled within, the door was
flung open, and Dimitri stepped into
a vaulted chamber, lit by a dozen
flaring lamps. A harsh voice—that
of the prison governor—dismissed the
sergeant.
The door clanged shut behind
Dimitri as he bowed low to the gov¬
ernor.
The scene within was familiar
enough to the executioner, and yet
this night it had some novel fea¬
tures. There was the governor, and
the slender, dark-clad figure of the
prison physician. There, hanging
from the ceiling of oft-used chains,
was the naked figure of the vietim:
a slender white body, apparently
that of a young man, his wrists high
THE JUSTICE OF THE CZAR
265
above his head in the grip of the iron
bracelets, his ankles locked to the
floor by the stocks provided for that
purpose.
But—and this was strange to
Dimitri—the victim’s face and head
were hooded and concealed by a
black sack, drawn over the head and
secured about the man’s neck by a
stout cord. It was the first time that
Dimitri had ever seen this done, and
he wondered.
One of his assistants silently glided
forward from a comer and handed
Dimitri a knout. Dimitri gripped
the heavy oaken handle of the ter¬
rible whip in practised fingers—ran
through his hands the long knotted
thongs, with their cruel steel goads
at the ends. He nodded.
“A good knout, Paul,” he said,
and turned expectantly toward the
governor.
He was ready to begin.
But the governor was not looking
at Dimitri. He was staring across
the room—staring at a little group of
men standing at the farther side, out
of the direct glare of the lamps.
The governor’s face was white be¬
neath the brim of his fur hat; the
eyes which had looked unmoved on
so much torture and death were
filled with a strange emotion.
Was it—fear? Dimitri, accus¬
tomed to reading the expressions in
men’s eyes, felt a sudden unac¬
countable dread clutch at his heart.
If his Excellency the Governor of
St. Peter and St. Paul—known far
and wide in Holy Russia as Black
Nikolai—was afraid: Black Nikolai
afraid! —ah, then common men might
well look to themselves. God! what
business was this?
Dimitri followed the governor’s
gaze.
There were five men at the far side
of the dungeon—no, there were more;
for in one comer were half a dozen
Tartar troopers of one of the newly
raised regiments of irregular horse,
which the Czar had recruited in the
south. Brutish, pig-eyed fellows
these, short and squat and bow-
legged : in stolid silence they watched
the scene before them. A block stood
there also, and a Tartar ax—and
Dimitri thought he understood.
Here was quick release for the vic¬
tim—after the knout had ripped his
secrets from his quivering body!
Dimitri had had experience of such
methods.
But the silent group of five in the
other corner—one in a long red cloak
and hat drawn well down over his
eyes, the others officers of the Impe¬
rial Guard in military cloaks, booted
and spurred—why were they so si¬
lent? Were they witnesses—were
they-? Again, unaccountably,
Dimitri felt the icy grip of that
strange fear.
The man in the red cloak suddenly
inclined his head.
The governor bowed; turned to
Dimitri. “Begin,” he said in low
tones.
Dimitri, in silence, stepped for¬
ward into the center of the floor,
placing himself with practised de¬
liberation at exactly the proper dis¬
tance from his prey. He flung off his
cloak, tossed it to his assistant; re¬
moved also his tunic, and stood bared
to the waist, his tremendous muscles
rippling under his hairy skin, his
splendid torso like a figure of some
pagan god there in the flickering
lamplight.
He swung the knoiit experimental¬
ly; the thongs whistled through the
air; the naked man in chains shrank
at the sound, as well he might
Dimitri, his strong hands gripping
the handle of the awful knout,
stepped back, poised for the first
stroke-
“Wait!”
Surprized, Dimitri turned. It was
the man in the red cloak who had
spoken. Some great one, this, with¬
out a doubt; for instantly the gov¬
ernor confirmed with a sharp word
the order given.
266
WEIRD TALES
The red-cloaked one looked over
the muffling edge of his cloak at the
trembling victim.
“One last word, Alexis,” said he.
“The knout is ready—you have heard
the whine of its thongs—will you
speak? The names of your accom¬
plices—of those who have led you into
this conspiracy! The names! Speak
—and a swift and merciful death
shall be your reward! ’ ’
And then for the first time the
masked one spoke. One word, muffled
by the black hood, yet firm, resolute,
determined: “Never!”
The eyes of the man in the red
cloak glared with a rage truly infer¬
nal. “By the bones of Saint An¬
drew!” he swore, grinding out the
words between his teeth; “ere this
night is over, you will speak, and
gladly. Proceed, executioner!”
Again Dimitri took his stance;
poised; swung back the knout. The
thongs whizzed through the air and
bit deep into the back of the naked
man.
A scream rang out—a terrible
scream, the scream of a man who has
never before known physical pain; it
echoed away through the arches of
the vaulted roof, those grim old
arches which had echoed so many
screams of agony.
Across the white back of the vic¬
tim were now seven red weals as the
thongs fell away—weals dotted with
larger spots of red, where the knots
had torn little gouts of flesh from the
quivering back as with practised hand
Dimitri jerked them aside.
Again the knout swung back—for¬
ward—whined and struck home—
again—again—and all the time the
screams rang through the dungeon,
till the Guard officers turned away
their heads and even the stolid Tar¬
tars muttered in a vague distress
which was as near to pity as they
could come.
T wenty strokes of the knout had
fallen; now the back of the naked
man was one great mass of raw, pul¬
sating flesh. No skin at all remained,
save a few strips still hanging pre¬
cariously here and there. And still
the pitiless red whip rose and fell.
The screams were not so loud,
now; they lost their piercing quality,
sank into mere moans of unutterable
agony. And at last even these were
silent.
Dimitri paused in his dreadful
task. “I think he has fainted, sir,”
he said to the physician.
“Revive him, and continue,” grated
the man in the red cloak, at the gov¬
ernor’s inquiring—almost shuddering
—glance.
The physician gave low-voiced in¬
structions to the assistants; a bucket
of water was flung over the poor
bleeding body hanging there by its
wrist-chains. It washed away some
of the blood, some of the loose flesh;
not only the back had suffered, for in
front, on the stomach and chest, the
flesh had been tom to ribbons by the
steel tips of the thongs as they curved
round the body at the conclusion of
each stroke.
Another bucket of water; now the
physician was forcing brandy between
the clenched teeth of the victim—
teeth which had at the last met and
fixed themselves in the lower lip.
There was a low moan—a choking
sob; the tom body moved a little.
“Will you speak, Alexis?” de¬
manded the inexorable voice of the
man in the red cloak.
And again, from the depths of that
black hood, faintly now but still with
that ring of deathless resolution, came
one word: ‘ ‘ Never! ’ ’
The red-cloaked one snarled word¬
lessly; motioned with his arm; the
governor spoke.
Again the knout rose and fell, rose
and fell, rose and fell; now at every
blow blood and flesh spurted forth,
spattered the walls, reddened and
THE JUSTICE OF THE CZAR
267
soaked into the earthen floor beneath
the victim, where no stones had been
laid, so that there might be no need
to remove the blood of countless poor
wretches who suffered there.
The physician whispered to the
governor.
“What is that?” snapped the red-
cloaked one.
“He is saying, lord,” replied the
governor, “that a few more strokes
will kill.”
“So be it!” exclaimed the other,
savagely. “Go on, executioner; fin¬
ish your work! ’ ’
“To the death?” asked Dimitri,
panting from his exertions, while the
red thongs of the knout trailed their
horror on the floor.
“To the death!”
The voice of the man in the red
cloak seemed to break for a moment,
but he spoke no more; the governor
nodded, and the knout was at work
again.
Swiftly now the strokes fell.
Dimitri charged from one side to the
other, shifting the knout from his
right hand to his left. Long prac¬
tise had made him equally dexterous
with either hand, and the knout had
been busy these past years.
The terrible shreds of what had
been a strong and vigorous youth
hung limply from the wrist-irons. No
cries, no moans; not a sound save the
whistle of the lash, the deep breath¬
ing of Dimitri, and the sodden thud
of the blows.
Again the physician whispered to
the governor.
* * Enough! ’ ’ said Black Nikolai.
Dimitri ceased his horrible exer¬
tions ; stood aside, silent, waiting.
The physician stepped forward to
the bloody thing that had once been
human. A moment—then he bowed
his head on his breast.
“It is done, lord,” he said; and
suddenly turned, sprang to the door,
tore open the bolts and was gone.
They could hear his footsteps clatter¬
ing up the stone stair in mad haste.
An assistant executioner, at a sign
from the governor, loosed the chains
from their ring and lowered the body
to the ground.
The man in the red cloak stepped
forward to its side, moving slowly,
almost wearily. Long he looked down
at it in silence; then with a sudden
motion tore the cloak from his shoul¬
ders and flung its ample scarlet folds
over the horror on the floor, not less
scarlet.
“Come!” he cried in a great voice
to the Guard officers. “Come! Take
up the body of His Imperial High¬
ness, the Crown Prince Alexis Petro-
vitch Romanoff, and bear it with all
fitting honors to the chapel of the
fortress!’ ’
He raised his head—his burning
eyes seemed to shrivel Dimitri’s very
soul.
It was the Czar—Peter the Czar,
surnamed the Great!
For a moment he stared at the
executioner; then slowly his terrible
eyes traveled downward to the hands
which still gripped that bloody
knout. There they rested for a long
moment.
“Go, Nikolai, and see that all is
done well! ” said the Czar, choking on
the words. Already the Guard offi¬
cers were lifting, as gently and care¬
fully as they could, the torn remnants
of the Crown Prince of Russia. In
silence they bore the body from the
room; the governor followed.
“Dismiss your assistants,” ordered
the Czar; and Dimitri, still wonder¬
ing, still with that chill of fear at his
heart, obeyed.
The Czar took a step back.
It was over, thought Dimitri; his
mind turned from the dreadful scene
that had been to the hot soup that
Tasia would have waiting for him in
the tower. God! He would need a
measure of brandy first, after this!
He glanced furtively at the lower¬
ing figure of the Czar; that burning
gaze again was fixed on his hands—
on the knout.
268
WEIRD TALES
The Czar was trembling. Sudden¬
ly, with an indescribably violent
movement—almost as though it re¬
quired a terrific effort to tear his
eyes from those blood-stained hands
and that scarlet whip—the Czar
turned away. His eyes fell on the
silent Tartar troopers, on the block
and ax that were to have been the
instruments of his imperial mercy.
The Czar took a step forward—
paused-
“Seize him!” he cried in a terrible
voice, pointing at Dimitri.
The Tartars sprang forward in
instant obedience; Dimitri, his blood
congealing in his veins, felt their
strong fingers grip his arms.
‘ ‘ To the block with him! ’ ’ cried the
Czar. ‘ ‘ Strike off those hands—those
hands that have tom the life from my
son—ah, God! my son! my son! ’ ’
The Czar turned toward the stair;
the last sound that came to Dimitri’s
ears as the Tartars dragged him to¬
ward the corner where waited the
block and the ax was that despairing
cry: “Ah, God! my son! my son!’’
Then the door closed on the horror
that remained.
The Demoiselle d’Ys
By ROBERT W. CHAMBERS
“There be three things which are too
wonderful for me, yea, four which I know
not:
“The way of an eagle in the air; the way
of a serpent upon a rock; the way of a ship
in the midst of the sea; and the way of a
man with a maid.”
T HE utter desolation of the
scene began to have its effect;
I sat down to face the situa¬
tion and, if possible, recall to mind
some landmark which might aid me
in extricating myself from my pres¬
ent position. If I could only find the
ocean again all would-be clear, for I
knew one could see the island of
Groix from the cliffs.
I laid down my gun, and kneeling
behind a rock lighted a pipe. Then
I looked at my watch. It was nearly
4 o’clock. I might have wandered
far from Kerselec since daybreak.
Standing the day before on the
cliffs below Kerselec with Goulven,
looking out over the somber moors
among which I had now lost my way,
these downs had appeared to me level
as a meadow, stretching to the hori¬
zon, and although I knew how decep¬
tive is distance, I could not realize
THE DEMOISELLE D’YS
269
that what from Kerselee seemed to
be mere grassy hollows were great
valleys covered with gorse and heath¬
er, and what looked like scattered
boulders were in reality enormous
cliffs of granite.
“It’s a bad place for a stranger,”
old Goulven had said; “you’d better
take a guide;” and I had replied, “I
shall not lose myself.” Now I knew
that I had lost myself, as I sat there
smoking, with the sea-wind blowing
in my face. On every side stretched
the moorland, covered with flowering
gorse and heath and granite boulders.
There was not a tree in sight, much
less a house. After a while, I picked
up the gun, and turning my back on
the sun tramped oil again.
There was little use in following
any of the brawling streams which
every now' and then crossed my path,
for, instead of flowing into the sea,
they ran inland to reedy pools in the
holiows of the moors. I had followed
several, but they all led me to swamps
or silent little ponds from which the
snipe rose peeping and wheeled away
in an ecstasy of fright. I began to
feel fatigued, and the gun galled my
shoulder in spite of the double pads.
The sun sank lower and lower, shin¬
ing level across yellow gorse and the
moorland pools.
As I walked, my own gigantic shad¬
ow led me on, seeming to lengthen at
every step. The gorse scraped against
my leggings, crackled beneath my
feet, showering the brown earth with
blossoms, and the brake bowed and
billowed along my path. From
tufts of heath rabbits scurried away
through the bracken, and among the
swamp grass I heard the wild duck’s
drowsy quack. Once a fox stole
across my path, and again, as I
stooped to drink at a hurrying rill,
a heron flapped heavily from the
reeds beside me. I turned to look at
the sun. It seemed to touch the
edges of the plain. When at last I
decided that it was useless to go on,
and that I must make up my mind to
spend at least one night on the
moors, I threw myself down thor¬
oughly fagged out. The evening sun¬
light slanted warm across my body,
but the sea-winds began to rise, and
I felt a chill strike through me from
my wet shooting-boots. High over¬
head gulls were wheeling and tossing
like bits of white paper; from some
distant marsh a solitary curlew
called. Little by little the sun sank
into the plain, and the zenith flushed
with the afterglow. I watched the
sky Qhange from palest gold to pink
and then to smoldering fire. Clouds
of midges danced above me, and high
in the calm air a bat dipped and
soared. My eyelids began to droop.
Then as I shook off the drowsiness a
sudden crash among the bracken
roused me. I raised my eyes. A
great bird hung quivering in the air
above my face. For an instant I
stared, incapable of motion; then
something leaped past me in the
ferns and the bird rose, wheeled, and
pitched headlong into the brake.
I was on my feet in an instant
peering through the gorse. There
came the sound of a struggle from a
bunch of heather close by, and then
all was quiet. I stepped forward, my
gun poised, but when I came to the
heather the gun fell under my arm
again, and I stood motionless in si¬
lent astonishment. A dead hare lay
on the ground, and on the hare stood
a magnificent falcon, one talon bur¬
ied in the creature’s neck, the other
planted firmly on its limp flank. But
what astonished me was not the mere
sight of a falcon sitting upon its prey.
I had seen that more than once. It
was that the falcon was fitted with a
sort of leash about both talons, and
from the leash hung a round bit of
metal like a sleigh-bell. The bird
turned its fierce yellow eyes on me,
and then stooped and struck its
curved beak into the quarry. At the
same instant hurried steps sounded
among the heather, and a girl sprang
into the covert in front. Without a
270
WEIRD TALES
glance at me she walked up to the
falcon, and passing her gloved hand
under its breast, raised it from the
quarry. Then she deftly slipped a
small hood over the bird’s head, and
holding it out on her gauntlet,
stooped and picked up the hare.
She passed a cord about the ani¬
mal’s legs and fastened the end of
the thong to her girdle. Then she
started to retrace her steps through
the covert. As she passed me I raised
my cap and she acknowledged my
presence with a scarcely perceptible
inclination. I had been so astonished,
so lost in admiration of the scene be¬
fore my eyes, that it had not occurred
to me that here was my salvation.
But as she moved away I recollected
that unless I wanted to sleep on a
windy moor that night I had better
recover my speech without delay. At
my first word she hesitated, and as I
stepped before her I thought a look
of fear came into her beautiful eyes.
But as I humbly explained my un¬
pleasant plight, her face flushed and
she looked at me in wonder.
“Surely you did not come from
Kerselec! ’ ’ she repeated.
Her sweet voice had no trace of the
Breton accent nor of any accent
which 1 knew, and yet there was
something in it I seemed to have
heard before, something quaint and
indefinable, like the theme of an old
song.
I explained that I was an Ameri¬
can, unacquainted with Finistere,
shooting there for my own amuse¬
ment.
“An American,” she repeated in
the same quaint musical tones. “I
have never before seen an American.”
For a moment she stood silent, then
looking at me she said: “If you
should walk all night you could not
reach Kerselec now, even if you had
a guide.”
“But,” I began, “if I could only
find a peasant’s hut where I might
get something to eat, and shelter. ’ ’
The falcon on her wrist fluttered
and shook its head. The girl smoothed
its glossy back and glanced at me.
“Look around,” she said gently.
“Can you see the end of these moors?
Look north, south, east, west. Can
you see anything but moorland and
bracken?”
“No,” I said.
‘ ‘ The moor is wild and desolate. It
is easy to enter, but sometimes they
who enter never leave it. There are
no peasants’ huts here.”
“Well,” I said, “if you will tell
me in which direction Kerselec lies,
tomorrow it will take me no longer
to go back than it has to come.”
She looked at me again with an ex¬
pression almost like pity.
“Ah,” she said, “to come is easy
and takes hours; to go is different—
and may take centuries.”
I stared at her in amazement but
decided that I had misunderstood
her. Then before I had time to
speak she drew a whistle from her
belt and sounded it.
“Sit down and rest,” she said to
me; “you have come a long distance
and are tired.”
She gathered up her pleated skirts
and motioning me to follow picked
her dainty way through the gorse to
a flat rock among the ferns.
“They will be here directly,” she
said, and taking a seat at one end of
the rock invited me to sit down on
the other edge. The afterglow was
beginning to fade in the sky and a
single star twinkled faintly through
the rosy haze. A long, wavering tri¬
angle of water-fowl drifted south¬
ward over our heads, and from the
swamps around plover were calling.
“They are very beautiful—these
moors, ’ ’ she said quietly.
“Beautiful, but cruel to stran¬
gers,” I answered.
“Beautiful and cruel,” she repeat¬
ed dreamily, “beautiful and cruel.”
“Like a woman,” I said stupidly.
“Oh,” she cried with a little catch
in her breath and looked at me. Her
THE DEMOISELLE D’YS
271
dark eyes met mine and I thought she
seemed angry or frightened.
“Like a woman,” she repeated
under her breath; “how cruel to say
so!” Then after a pause, as though
speaking aloud to herself, ‘ ‘ How
cruel for him to say that! ’ ’
I don’t know what sort of an apol¬
ogy I offered for my inane, though
harmless, speech, but I know that she
seemed so troubled about it that I
began to think I had said something
very dreadful without knowing it,
and remembered with horror the pit-
falls and snares which the French
language sets for foreigners. While
I was trying to imagine what I
might have said, a sound of voices
came across the moor and the girl
rose to her feet.
“No,” she said, with a trace of a
smile on her pale face, “I will not
accept your apologies, Monsieur, but
I must prove you wrong and that
shall be my revenge. Look. Here
come Hastur and Raoul.”
T wo men loomed up in the twi¬
light. One had a sack across his
shoulders and the other carried a
hoop before him as a waiter carries a
tray. The hoop was fastened with
straps to his shoulders, and around
the edge of the circlet sat three hood¬
ed falcons fitted with tinkling bells.
The girl stepped up to the falconer,
and with a quick turn of her wrist
transferred her falcon to the hoop,
where it quickly sidled off and nes¬
tled among its mates who shook their
hooded heads and ruffled their feath¬
ers till the belled jesses tinkled again.
The other man stepped forward and
bowing respectfully took up the hare
and dropped it into the game-sack.
“These are my piqueurs,” said the
girl, turning to me with a gentle
dignity. “Raoul is a good fauconnier
and I shall some day make him grand
veneur. Hastur is incomparable.”
The two silent men saluted me re¬
spectfully.
“Did I not tell you, Monsieur, that
I should prove you wrong?” she con¬
tinued. “This then is my revenge,
that you do me the courtesy of ac¬
cepting food and shelter at my own
house.”
Before I could answer she spoke to
the falconers, who started instantly
across the heath, and with a gracious
gesture to me she followed. I don’t
know whether I made her understand
how profoundly grateful I felt, but
she seemed pleased to listen, as we
walked over the dewy heather.
“Are you not very tired?” she
asked.
I had clean forgotten my fatigue
in her presence and I told her so.
“Don’t you think your gallantry
is a little old-fashioned?” she said;
and when I looked confused and hum¬
bled, she added quietly, “Oh, I like
it, I like everything old-fashioned,
and it is delightful to hear you say
such pretty things.”
The moorland around us was very
still now under its ghostly sheet of
mist. The plover had ceased their
calling; the crickets and all the little
creatures of the fields were silent as
we passed, yet it seemed to me as if
I could hear them beginning again
far behind us. Well in advance the
two tall falconers strode across the
heather and the faint jingling of the
hawks’ bells came to our ears in dis¬
tant murmuring chimes.
Suddenly a splendid hound dashed
out of the mist in front, followed by
another and another until half a
dozen or more were bounding and
leaping around the girl beside me.
She caressed and quieted them with
her gloved hand, speaking to them in
quaint terms which I remembered to
have seen in old French manuscripts.
Then the falcons on the circlet
borne by the falconer ahead began to
beat their wings and scream, and
from somewhere out of sight the notes
of a hunting-horn floated across the
moor. The hounds sprang away be¬
fore us and vanished in the twilight,
and the falcons flapped and squealed
272
WEIRD TALES
upon their perch, and the girl taking
up the song of the horn began to
hum. Clear and mellow her voice
sounded in the night air:
“Chasseur, chasseur, chassez encore,
Quittez Rosette et Jeanneton,
Tonton, tonton, tontaine, tonton,
Ou, pour rabattre, d&s l’aurore,
Que les Amours soient de planton,
Tonton, tontaine, tonton.”
As I listened to her lovely voice a
gray mass which rapidly grew more
distinct loomed up in front, and the
horn rang out joyously through the
tumult of the hounds and falcons. A
torch glimmered at a gate, a light
streamed through an opening door,
and we stepped upon a wooden bridge
which trembled under our feet and
rose creaking and straining behind us
as we passed over the moat and into a
small stone court, walled on every
side. From an open doorway a man
came and bending in salutation pre¬
sented a cup to the girl beside me.
She took the cup and touched it with
her lips, then lowering it turned to
me and said in a low voice, “I bid
you welcome.”
At that moment one of the falcon¬
ers came with another cup, but before
handing it to me, presented it to the
girl, who tasted it. The falconer
made a gesture to receive it, but she
hesitated a moment and then stepping
forward offered me the cup with her
own hands. I felt this to be an act
of extraordinary graciousness, but
hardly knew what was expected of
me, and did not raise it to my lips
at once. The girl flushed crimson. I
saw that I must act quickly.
“Mademoiselle,” I faltered, “a
stranger whom you have saved from
dangers he may never realize, empties
this cup to the gentlest and loveliest
hostess of France.”
“In His name,” she murmured,
crossing herself, as I drained the cup.
Then stepping into the doorway she
turned to me with a pretty gesture
and taking my hand in hers, led me
into the house, saying again and
again: “You are very welcome, in¬
deed you are welcome to the Chateau
d’Ys.”
2
I awoke next morning with the
music of the horn in my ears, and
leaping out of the ancient bed, went
to the curtained window where the
sunlight filtered through little deep-
set panes. The horn ceased as I
looked into the court below.
A man who might have been broth¬
er to the two falconers of the night
before stood in the midst of a pack of
hounds. A curved horn was strapped
over his back, and in his hand he
held a long-lashed whip. The dogs
whined and yelped, dancing around
him in anticipation; there was the
stamp of horses too in the walled
yard.
“Mount!” cried a voice in Breton,
and with a clatter of hoofs the two
falconers, with falcons upon their
wrists, rode into the courtyard among
the hounds. Then I heard another
voice which sent the blood throbbing
through my heart: “Piriou Louis,
hunt the hounds well and spare
neither spur nor whip. Thou Raoul
and thou Gaston, see that the epervier
does not prove himself niais, and if it
be best in your judgment, faites cour-
toisie a, Voiseau. Jar diner un oiseau
like the mue there on Hastur’s wrist
is not difficult, but thou, Raoul, may-
est not find it so simple to govern
that hagard. Twice last week he
foamed au vif and lost the beccade
although he is used to the leurre.
The bird acts like a stupid branchier.
Paitre un hagard n’est pas si facile.”
Was I dreaming? The old lan¬
guage of falconry which I had read
in yellow manuscripts—the old for¬
gotten French of the Middle Ages
was sounding in my ears while the
hounds bayed and the hawks’ bells
tinkled accompaniment to the stamp¬
ing horses. She spoke again in the
sweet forgotten language:
THE DEMOISELLE D’YS
273
“If you would rather attack the
longe and leave thy hagard au bloc,
Raoul, I shall say nothing; for it were
a pity to spoil so fair a day’s sport
with an ill-trained sors. Essimer
abaisser ,—it is possibly the best way.
Qa lui donnera des reins. I was per¬
haps hasty with the bird. It takes
time to pass d la filiere and the exer¬
cises d’escap.”
Then the falconer Raoul bowed in
his stirrups and replied: “If it be
the pleasure of Mademoiselle, I shall
keep the hawk.”
“It is my wish,” she answered.
“Falconry I know, but you have yet
to give me many a lesson in Autourse-
rie, my poor Raoul. Sieur Piriou
Louis, mount!”
The huntsman sprang into an
archway and in an instant returned,
mounted upon a strong black horse,
followed by a piqueur also mounted.
“Ah!” she cried joyously, “speed
Glemarec Rene! speed! speed all!
Sound thy horn, Sieur Piriou!”
The silvery music of the hunting-
horn filled the courtyard, the hounds
sprang through the gateway and gal¬
loping hoof-beats plunged out of the
paved court; loud on the drawbridge,
suddenly muffled, then lost in the
heather and bracken of the moors.
Distant and more distant sounded the
horn, until it became so faint that
the sudden carol of a soaring lark
drowned it in my ears. I heard the
voice below responding to some call
from within the house.
“I do not regret the chase; I will
go another time. Courtesy to the
stranger, Pelagie, remember!”
And a feeble voice came quavering
from within the house, “Courtoisie.”
I stripped, and rubbed myself from
head to foot in the huge earthen
basin of icy water which stood upon
the stone floor at the foot of my bed.
Then I looked about for my clothes.
They were gone, but on a settle near
the door lay a heap of garments
which I inspected with astonishment.
As my clothes had vanished I was
compelled to attire myself in the cos¬
tume which had evidently been placed
there for me to wear while my own
clothes dried. Everything was there,
cap, shoes, and hunting-doublet of
silvery gray homespun; but the close-
fitting costume and seamless shoes be¬
longed to another century, and I re¬
membered the strange costumes of
the three falconers in the courtyard.
I was sure that it was not the modem
dress of any portion of Franee or
Brittany; but not until I was dressed
and stood before a mirror between
the windows did I realize that I was
clothed much more like a young
huntsman of the Middle Ages than
like a Breton of that day. I hesi¬
tated and picked up the cap. Should
I go down and present myself in
that strange guise? There seemed
to be no help for it; my own
clothes were gone and there was no
bell in the ancient chamber to call
a servant, so I contented myself with
removing a short hawk’s feather from
the cap, and opening the door went
downstairs.
B y the fireplace in the large room
at the foot of the stairs an old
Breton woman sat spinning with a
distaff. She looked up at me when I
appeared, and, smiling frankly,
wished me health in the Breton lan¬
guage, to which I laughingly replied
in French. At the same moment my
hostess appeared and returned my
salutation with a grace and dignity
that sent a thrill to my heart. Her
lovely head with its dark curly hair
was crowned with a head-dress which
set all doubts as to the epoch of my
own costume at rest. Her slender fig¬
ure was exquisitely set off in the
homespun hunting-gown edged with
silver, and on her gauntlet-covered
wrist she bore one of her petted
hawks. With perfect simplicity she
took my hand and led me into the
garden in the court, and seating her¬
self before a table invited me very
sweetly to sit beside her. Then she
274
WEIRD TALES
asked me in her soft quaint accent
how I had passed the night and
whether I was very much inconven¬
ienced by wearing the clothes which
old Pelagie had put there for me
while I slept. I looked at my own
clothes and shoes, drying in the sun
by the garden-wall, and hated them.
What horrors they were compared
with the graceful costume which I
now wore! I told her this, laughing,
but she agreed with me very se¬
riously.
“We will throw them away,” she
said in a quiet voice. In my astonish¬
ment I attempted to explain that I
not only could not think of accepting
clothes from anybody, although for
all I knew it might be the custom of
hospitality in that part of the coun¬
try, but that I should cut an impos¬
sible figure if I returned to France
clothed as I was then.
She laughed and tossed her pretty
head, saying something in old French
which I did not understand, and then
Pelagie trotted out with a tray on
which stood two bowls of milk, a loaf
of white bread, fruit, a platter of
honeycomb, a flagon of deep red
wine. “You see I have not yet bro¬
ken my fast because I wished you to
eat with me. But I am very hungry,”
she smiled.
“I would rather die than forget
one word of what you have said!” I
blurted out while my cheeks burned.
“She will think me mad,” I added
to myself, but she turned to me with
sparkling eyes.
“Ah!” she murmured. “Then
Monsieur knows all that there is of
chivalry-”
She crossed herself and broke
bread—I sat and watched her white
hands, not daring to raise my eyes to
hers.
“Will you not eat?” she asked.
“Why do you look so troubled?”
Ah, why? I knew it now. I
knew I would give my life to touch
with my lips those rosy palms—I
understood now that from the mo¬
ment when I looked into her dark
eyes there on the moor last night I
had loved her. My great and sud¬
den passion held me speechless.
“Are you ill at ease?” she asked
again.
Then like a man who pronounces
his own doom I answered in a low
voice: “Yes, I am ill at ease for love
of you.” And as she did not stir nor
answer, the same power moved my
lips in spite of me and I said, “I,
who am unworthy of the lightest of
your thoughts, I who abuse hospital¬
ity and repay your gentle courtesy
with bold presumption, I love you.”
She leaned her head upon her
hands, and answered softly, “I love
you. Your words are very dear to
me. I love you.”
“Then I shall win you.”
“Win me,” she replied.
But all the time I had been sitting
silent, my face turned toward her.
She also silent, her sweet face resting
on her upturned palm, sat facing me,
and as her eyes looked into mine, I
knew that neither she nor I had
spoken human speech; but I knew
that her soul had answered mine, and
I drew myself up feeling youth and
joyous love coursing through every
vein. She, with a bright color in her
lovely face, seemed as one awakened
from a dream, and her eyes sought
mine with a questioning glance which
made me tremble with delight. We
broke our fast, speaking of ourselves.
I told her my name and she told me
hers, the Demoiselle Jeanne d’Y’s.
She spoke of her father and moth¬
er’s death, and how the nineteen of
her years had been passed in the little
fortified farm alone with her nurse
Pelagie, Glemarec Rene the piqueur,
and the four falconers, Raoul, Gas¬
ton, Hastur, and the Sieur Piriou
Louis, who had served her father.
She had never been outside the moor¬
land—never even had seen a human
soul before, except the falconers and
Pelagie. She did not know how she
had heard of Kerselec; perhaps the
THE DEMOISELLE D’YS
275
falconers had spoken of it. She knew
the legends of Loup Garou and
Jeanne la Flamme from her nurse
Pelagie. She embroidered and spun
flax. Her hawks and hounds were
her only distraction. When she had
met me there on the moor she had
been so frightened that she almost
dropped at the sound of my voice.
She had, it was true, seen ships at
sea from the cliffs, but as far as the
eye could reach the moors over which
she galloped were destitute of any
sign of human life. There was a
legend which old Pelagie told, how
anybody once lost in the unexplored
moorland might never return, because
the moors were enchanted. She did
not know whether it was true; she
never had thought about it until she
met me. She did not know whether
the falconers had even been outside
or whether they could go if they
would. The books in the house which
Pelagie the nurse had taught her to
read were hundreds of years old.
All this she told me with a sweet
seriousness seldom seen in anyone
but children. My own name she
found easy to pronounce and insisted,
because my first name was Philip, I
must have French blood in me. She
did not seem curious to learn any¬
thing about the outside world, and I
thought perhaps she considered it
had forfeited her interest and respect
from the stories of her nurse.
We were still sitting at the table
and she was throwing grapes to the
small field birds which came fear¬
lessly to our very feet.
I began to speak in a vague way
of going, but she would not hear of
it, and before I knew it I had prom¬
ised to stay a week and hunt with
hawk and hound in their company.
I also obtained permission to come
again from Kerselec and visit her
after my return.
“Why,” she said innocently, “I do
not know what I should do if you
never came back;” and I, knowing
that I had no right to awaken her
with the sudden shock which the
avowal of my own love would bring
to her, sat silent, hardly daring to
breathe.
“You will come very often?” she
asked.
“Very often,” I said.
“Every day?”
“Every day.”
“Oh,” she sighed, “I am very
happy—come and see my hawks.”
She rose and took my hand again
with a: childlike innocence of posses¬
sion, and we walked through the gar¬
den and fruit trees to a grassy lawn
which was bordered by a brook. Over
the lawn were scattered fifteen or
twenty stumps of trees—partially
imbedded in the grass—and upon all
of these except two sat falcons. They
were attached to the stumps by
thongs which were in turn fastened
with steel rivets to their legs just
above the talons. A little stream of
pure spring water flowed in a wind¬
ing course within easy distance of
each perch.
T he birds set up a clamor when
the girl appeared, but she went
from one to another, caressing some,
taking others for an instant upon her
wrist, or stooping to adjust their
jesses.
“Are they not pretty?” she said.
“See, here is a falcon-gentil. We
call it ‘ignoble,’ because it takes the
quarry in direct chase. This is a blue
falcon. In falconry we call it ‘noble’
because it rises over the quarry, and
wheeling, drops upon it from above.
This white bird is a gerfalcon from
the north. It is also ‘noble!’ Here
is a merlin, and this tiercelet is a
f alcon-heroner. ’ ’
I asked her how she had learned the
old language of falconry. She did
not remember, but thought her father
must have taught it to her when she
was very young.
Then she led me away and showed
me the young falcons still in the nest.
“They are termed mats in falconry,”
276
WEIRD TALES
she explained. “A branchier is the
young bird which is just able to leave
the nest and hop from branch to
branch. A young bird which has not
yet moulted is called a sors, and a
mue is a hawk which has moulted in
captivity. When we catch a wild
falcon which has changed its plumage
we term it a liagard. Raoul first
taught me to dress a falcon. Shall I
teach you how it is done?”
She seated herself on the bank of
the stream among the falcons and I
threw myself at her feet to listen.
Then the Demoiselle d’Ys held up
one rosy-tipped finger and began
very gravely, “First one must catch
the falcon.”
“I am caught,” I answered.
She laughed very prettily and told
me my dressage would perhaps be
difficult as I was noble.
“I am already tamed,” I replied;
“jessed and belled.”
She laughed, delighted. “Oh, my
brave falcon; then you will return at
my call?”
“I am yours,” I answered gravely.
She sat silent for a moment. Then
the color heightened in her cheeks
and she held up her finger again say¬
ing, “Listen; I wish to speak of fal¬
conry-”
“I listen, Countess Jeanne d’Ys.”
But again she fell into the revery,
and her eyes seemed fixed on some¬
thing beyond the summer clouds.
“Philip,” she said at last.
“Jeanne,” I whispered.
“That is all,—that is what I
wished,” she sighed,—“Philip and
Jeanne.”
She held her hand toward me and
I touched it with my lips.
“Win me,” she said, but this time
it was the body and soul which spoke
in unison.
After a while she began again:
“Let us speak of falconry.”
“Begin,” I replied; “we have
caught the falcon.”
Then Jeanne d’Ys took my hand
in both of hers and told me how with
infinite patience the young falcon
was taught to perch upon the wrist,
how little by little it became used to
the belled jesses and the chaperon d
comette.
‘ * They must first have a good appe¬
tite,” she said; “then little by little
I reduce their nourishment which in
falconry we call pat. When after
many nights passed an bloc as these
birds are now, I prevail upon the
hagard to stay quietly on the wrist,
then the bird is ready to be taught
to come for its food. I fit the pat to
the end of a thong or leurre, and
teach the bird to come to me as soon
as I began to whirl the cord in circles
about my head. At first I drop the
pat when the falcon comes, and he
eats the food on the ground. After a
little he will learn to seize the leurre
in motion as I whirl it around my
head, or drag it over the ground.
After this it is easy to teach the fal¬
con to strike at game, always remem¬
bering to ‘faire courtoisie a, I’oiseau,’
that is, to allow the bird to taste the
quarry.”
A squeal from one of the falcons
interrupted her, and she arose to
adjust the longe, which had become
whipped about the bloc, but the bird
still flapped its wings and screamed.
“What is the matter?” she said;
“Philip, can you see?”
I looked around and at first saw
nothing to cause the commotion
which was now heightened by the
screams and flapping of all the birds.
Then my eye fell upon the flat rock
beside the stream from which the girl
had risen. A gray serpent was mov¬
ing slowly across the surface of the
boulder,, and the eyes in its flat tri¬
angular head sparkled like jet.
“A couleuvre,” she said quietly.
“It is harmless, is it not?” I asked.
She pointed to the black V-shaped
figure on the neck.
“It is certain death,” she said; “it
is a viper.”
We watched the reptile moving
slowly over the smooth rock to where
THE DEMOISELLE D’YS
277
the sunlight fell in a broad warm
patch.
I started forward to examine it,
but she clung to my arm crying,
“Don’t, Philip; I am afraid.”
“For me?”
“For you, Philip,—I love you.”
Then I took her in my arms and
kissed her on the lips, but all I could
say was: “Jeanne, Jeanne, Jeanne.”
And as she lay trembling on my
breast, something struck my foot in
the grass below, but I did not heed
it. Then again something struck my
ankle, and a sharp pain shot through
me. I looked into the sweet face of
Jeanne d’Ys and kissed her, and with
all my strength lifted her in my arms
and flung her from me. Then bend¬
ing, I tore the viper from my ankle
and set my heel upon its head. I re¬
member feeling weak and numb,—I
remember falling to the ground.
Through my slowly glazing eyes I
saw Jeanne’s white face bending close
to mine, and when the light in my
eyes went out I still felt her arms
about my neck, and her soft cheek
against my drawn lips.
**#*#*«
TX7hen I opened my eyes, I looked
* ’ around in terror. Jeanne was
gone. I saw the stream and the flat
rock; I saw the crushed viper in the
grass beside me, but the hawks and
blocs had disappeared. I sprang to
my feet. The garden, the fruit trees,
the drawbridge and the walled court
were gone. I stared stupidly at a
heap of crumbling ruins, ivy-covered
and gray, through which great trees
had pushed their way. I crept for¬
ward, dragging my numbed foot, and
as I moved, a falcon sailed from the
tree-tops among the ruins, and soar¬
ing, mounting in narrowing circles,
faded and vanished in the clouds
above.
“Jeanne, Jeanne,” I cried, but my
voice died on my lips, and I fell on
my knees among the weeds. And as
God willed it, I, not knowing, had
fallen kneeling before a crumbling
shrine carved in stone for our Mother
of Sorrows. I saw the sad face of the
Virgin wrought in the cold stone. I
saw the cross and thorns at her feet,
and beneath it I read:
PRAY FOR THE SOUL OF THE
DEMOISELLE JEANNE D’YS,
WHO DIED
IN HER YOUTH FOR LOVE OF
PHILIP, A STRANGER,
A. D. 1573.
But upon the icy slab lay a
woman’s glove still warm and fra¬
grant.
I N ANNOUNCING a vampire story of unusual beauty and fascination by
Seabury Quinn—a story wherein the reader feels pity and sympathy for
the vampire instead of loathing—we hasten to reassure those of our
readers who have written anxious letters asking us whether we are going to
part company with the fascinating little French ghost-breaker, Jules de
Grandin. This delightful personage—scientist, occult investigator and keen
analyst—has built a place all his own in the hearts of Weird Tales readers;
and when, as occasionly happens, we omit Seabury Quinn’s de Grandin stories
for one or two issues, we invariably receive a flood of letters from you, the
readers. Some of these are worried for fear we have discontinued the de
Grandin stories; others threaten us with dire penalties unless we immediately
restore the Frenchman to our pages. It is a real feat to create a character in
fiction so likable, so human, and so fascinating that he immediately makes
himself loved by thousands of readers, and this is what Seabury Quinn has
done in creating the temperamental and vivacious Jules de Grandin for your
delectation.
It is our earnest hope that Jules de Grandin will continue to fascinate
the readers of Weird Tales for many years to come. Mr. Quinn is at present
working on some of the eeriest, most breath-taking adventures that the quick¬
tempered little Frenchman has yet encountered. And in Restless Souls, the
vampire story in which Jules de Grandin plays the leading role, he has pic¬
tured a vampire woman who wins the sympathy and admiration not only of
the readers, but even of the relentless de Grandin himself, so that he temporizes
with duty and finally does with tears in his eyes that which is needful to do.
The story will be published soon. Vampire tales are usually stories of shuddery
horror; but occasionally there is written a vampire tale of fascinating beauty
and loveliness. La Morte Amoureuse by Theophile Gautier was one; Restless
Souls by Seabury Quinn is another.
Writes William Russell Moore, of Fulton, Missouri, in a letter to The
Eyrie: “The Dimension Terror, by Edmond Hamilton, would have taken the
lead among the stories in the June issue were it not for the competition of
Mr. Seabury Quinn and his charming character, Jules de Grandin. When the
278
THE EYRIE
279
little Frenchman is between your pages, other authors should not feel slighted
if their stories take second place, for de Grandin is a character so real that
it does not seem possible that he does not actually exist. Whether it is the
author’s personality shining in his character, or just the genuineness of the
created character, is not for me to say, but it is the character Jules de Grandin
that gives us the good stories, and it is a safe bet that Mr. Quinn would have
to work mighty hard to write a story that would surpass a typical de Grandin
story. So voting first place in the June issue to The Serpent Woman, not so
much for the plot idea as for the character Jules de Grandin, I will close; and
as de Grandin himself would no doubt express it, ‘I beg you hurry, make
haste, step hard on the gas, and speed us another story of the so excellent de
Grandin.’ ”
Writes N. J. O’Neail, of Toronto, Canada: “Just a word of enthusiastic
commendation for Weird Tales from a reader of ten months’ standing. Not
that everything in it appeals to me, of course; but what does, DOES: par¬
ticularly H. P. Lovecraft’s work, which is in a class by itself. G. G. Pendarves’
work is also remarkably good; I am surprized to see him receive so little
honorary mention in The. Eyrie. Bassett Morgan and Seabury Quinn are
among my other favorites. I don’t care so much for scientific stuff, but realize,
of course, that thousands do. However, I won’t complain along that line. Let’s
have as much more of Lovecraft as possible; but for heaven’s sake, never run
anything of his as a serial—you’d have half your readers dead of suspense
before it ended.”
William Randolph writes from the Infantry School at Fort Benning,
Georgia: “I suppose you don’t ever have a call from your soldier readers, do
you? There are a few thousand of us here, and we read as a relief from the
tension and strain of studying, as well as learning how best to protect the
interests of our country. I for one, and practically all of my buddies, read
Weird Tales. We fellows like the uncanny, mysterious, weird and scientific
stories; for as you can well imagine, we get pretty well fed up on the
ordinary. ’ ’
Writes Jerry Snow, of Minneapolis: “The Moon Terror, that fascinating
Weird Tales serial which you have reprinted as a book, was a marvel! Why
not bring out a book of Lovecraft’s stories?”
“I have been a reader of Weird Tales for about two years,” writes
Clara Espiritu, of Isleton, California, “and I wish to say that it is getting
better all the time. Ghost-stories, good shuddery ones, are what I crave,
although The Bat-Men of Thorium promises to satisfy me. The Lurking Fear
was by far the best story in your June issue. I surely was disappointed with
Jules de Grandin; he let himself be used for a common detective story. It is
a dirty shame to treat such a talented man that way.”
Writes Veith Dali, of Chicago: “I picked The Lurking Fear by Love-
craft as June’s best story. And I think a lot of credit should go to Donald
Wandrei for his Sonnets of the Midnight Hours. They are typically weird.
280
WEIRD TALES
I never read such high-grade, high-powered stories as you publish. Each one
carries a ‘kick’.”
J. W. Meek, of Jackson, Mississippi, writes to The Eyrie: "It has been
my pleasure to read your magazine Weird Tales from your first issue to your
issue of this month, and during this time in no issue have you printed a story
that has been as interesting, weird or breath-taking as H. P. Lovecraft’s story,
The Lurking Fear. Weird tales, ghost-stories and other supernatural stories
have been my hobby for years, and during this time I have made a collection
of what, in my opinion, have been the best stories. Most of these stories come
from your magazine Weird Tales, others from Poe and other writers of this
nature; and I certainly intend to add to this collection The Lurking Fear.
The thing that impressed me most was that Lovecraft actually gave a descrip¬
tion of the Thing; he did not say as the usual run of stories do that ‘no pen
could describe it’ or that ‘it was too horrible for words’.”
“The Lurking Fear by Lovecraft is his best so far,” writes Paul Hen¬
drickson of Lancaster, Ohio. ‘‘I like his ability, to keep one uncertain as to
whether the plot will end in some far abyss, or in the way it eventually did.”
Writes Jack Darrow, of Chicago: ‘‘The June issue of Weird Tales is one
of the best issues you have had for a long time. It contains your best authors—
Edmond Hamilton, H. P. Lovecraft, Seabury Quinn, Bertram Russell, and
Everil Worrell. I had the mumps and couldn’t go out, so I spent my time
reading Weird Tales.”
Readers, what is your favorite story in this issue? The most popular
story in the June issue, as shown by your votes, was The Lurking Fear , by
H. P. Lovecraft. Your second and third choices were The Dimension Terror,
by Edmond Hamilton, and The Devil’s Martyr, by Signe Toksvig.
MY FAVORITE STORIES IN THE AUGUST WEIRD TALES ARE:
Story
Remarks
(1).
(2).
( 3 ).
I do not like the following stories:
(1) - Why? _
(2) - ---
It will help us to know what kind of
stories you want in Weird Tales if you
will fill out this coupon and mail it te
The Eyrie, Weird Tales, 450 E. Ohio St.,
Chicago, Ill.
Reader’s name and address:
WEIRD TALES
281
You Can’t Kill
a Ghost
(Continued from page 170)
cover that Henriquez had been shot
through the chest. He was a sly dog,
wqs Henriquez. And his wound
didn’t bleed! Even the captain did
not suspect. But he collapsed in the
arms of the mate when he attempted
to leave the ship.”
“He died?” I asked.
Talbot threw away his cigar and
laughed. “Nothing could kill Hen¬
riquez—not even a bullet. But I
never saw him again. He slipped
overboard that night and swam
ashore. ’ ’
“Did the president forgive him?”
I asked.
Talbot grunted. “Henriquez was
the president,” he replied.
I stared.
“But that isn’t all of my story,”
he continued. “I said nothing could
kill him. You can’t kill a ghost.
Henriquez was assassinated before I
escaped from prison. You may have
read about him in the papers. ’ ’
“And you mean to say-?” I
stammered.
“A rather unusual story, isn’t it?”
grinned Talbot. “Of course none of
the conventional magazines would
take it. They detest the unusual and
amazing in fiction. But you can
mention my name and perhaps some
civilized editor will run it. You
know, it’s beastly exhilarating to be
earned on the back of a ghost!”
Coming Soon—-
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SHADOW KINGDOM
By ROBERT E. HOWARD’
Another weird tale by the author of
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FRANK B. LONG, Jr. H. P. LOVECRAFT
Critical and advisory service for writers of
jjrose and verse; literary revision in all de-
282
WEIRD TALES
Red Shadows
(Continued from page 164)
those doing homage to N’Longa.
How could he know the craft and
hatred in that dusky, slanting skull
that had led the negro, escaping the
vengeance of his tribesmen, to trail
down the only man he had ever
feared? The Black God had been
kind to his neophyte; had led him
upon his victim helpless and un¬
armed. Now Gulka could kill his
man openly—and slowly, as a leop¬
ard kills, not smiting him down from
ambush as he had planned, silently
and suddenly.
A wide grin split the negro’s face,
and he moistened his lips. Kane,
watching him, was coldly and de¬
liberately weighing his chances.
Gulka had already spied the rapiers.
He was closer to them than was
Kane. The Englishman knew that
there was no chance of his winning
in a sudden race for the swords.
A slow, deadly rage surged in him
—the fury of helplessness. The blood
churned in his temples and his eyes
smoldered with a terrible light as he
eyed the negro. His fingers spread
and closed like claws. They were
strong, those hands; men had died in
their clutch. Even Gulka’s huge
black column of a neck might break
like a rotten branch between them—
a wave of weakness made the futility
of these thoughts apparent to an ex¬
tent that needed not the verification
of the moonlight glimmering from
the spear in Gulka’s black hand.
Kane could not even have fled had
he wished—and he had never fled
from a single foe.
The gorilla-slayer moved out into
the glade. Massive, terrible, he was
the personification of the primitive,
the Stone Age. His mouth yawned
in a red cavern of a grin; he bore
himself with the haughty arrogance
of savage might.
Kane tensed himself for the
struggle that could end but one way.
He strove to rally his waning forces.
Useless; he had lost too much blood.
At least he would meet his death on
his feet, and somehow he stiffened
his buckling knees and held himself
erect, though the glade shimmered
before him in uncertain waves and
the moonlight seemed to have be¬
come a red fog through which ho
dimly glimpsed the approaching black
man.
Kane stooped, though the effort
nearly pitched him on his face; he
dipped water in his cupped hands
and dashed it into his face. This re¬
vived him, and he straightened, hop¬
ing that Gulka would charge and get
it over with before his weakness
crumpled him to the earth.
Gulka was now about the center
of the glade, moving with the slow,
easy stride of a great cat stalking a
victim. He was not at all in a hurry
to consummate his purpose. He
wanted to toy with his victim, to see
fear come into those grim eyes which
had looked him down, even when the
possessor of those eyes had been
bound to the death stake. He wanted
to slay, at last, slowly, glutting his
tigerish blood-lust and torture-lust
to the fullest extent.
Then suddenly he halted, turned
swiftly, facing another side of the
glade. Kane, wondering, followed
his glance.
A t first it seemed like a blacker
shadow among the jungle shad¬
ows. At first there was no motion,
no sound, but Kane instinctively
knew that some terrible menace
lurked there in the darkness that
masked and merged the silent trees.
A sullen horror brooded there, and
Kane felt as if, from that monstrous
shadow, inhuman eyes seared his
very soul. Yet simultaneously there
RED SHADOWS
came the fantastic sensation that
these eyes were not directed on him.
He looked at the gorilla-slayer.
The black man had apparently for¬
gotten him; he stood, half crouching,
spear lifted, eyes fixed upon that
clump of blackness. Kane looked
again. Now there was motion in the
shadows; they merged fantastically
and moved out into the glade, much
as Gulka had done. Kane blinked:
was this the illusion that precedes
death? The shape he looked upon
was such as he had visioned dimly
in wild nightmares, when the wings
of sleep bore him back through lost
ages.
He thought at first it was some
blasphemous mockery of a man, for
it went erect and was tall as a tall
man. But it was inhumanly broad
and thick, and its gigantic arms
hung nearly to its misshapen feet.
Then the moonlight smote full upon
its bestial face, and Kane’s mazed
mind thought that the thing was the
Black God coming out of the shad¬
ows, animated and blood-lusting.
Then he saw that it was covered with
hair, and he remembered the man¬
like thing dangling from the roof-
pole in the native village. He looked
at Gulka.
The negro was facing the gorilla,
spear at the charge. He was not
afraid, but his sluggish mind was
wondering over the miracle that
brought this beast so far from his
native jungles.
The mighty ape came out into the
moonlight and there was a terrible
majesty about his movements. He
was nearer Kane than Gulka but he
did not seem to be aware of the white
man. His small, blazing eyes were
fixed on the black man with terrible
intensity. He advanced with a curious
swaying stride.
Far away the drums whispered
through the night, like an accom¬
paniment to this grim Stone Age
drama. The savage crouched in the
middle of the glade, but the primor¬
dial came out of the jungle with eyes
bloodshot and blood-lusting. The
negro was face to face with a thing
more primitive than he. Again ghosts
of memories whispered to Kane: you
have seen such sights before (they
murmured), back in the dim days, the
dawn days, when beast and beast-
man battled for supremacy.
Gulka moved away from the ape
in a half-circle, crouching, spear
ready. With all his craft he was
seeking to trick the gorilla, to make
a swift kill, for he had never before
met such a monster as this, and
though he did not fear, he had begun
to doubt. The ape made no attempt
to stalk or circle; he strode straight
forward toward Gulka.
The black man who faced him and
the white man who watched could
not know the brutish love, the
brutish hate that had driven the
monster down from the low, forest-
covered hills of the north to follow
for leagues the trail of him who was
the scourge of his kind—the slayer
of his mate, whose body now hung
(Continued on page 284)
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284
WEIRD TALES
(Continued from page 283)
from the roof-pole of the negro vil¬
lage.
The end came swiftly, almost like
a sudden gesture. They were close,
now, beast and beast-man; and sud¬
denly, with an earth-shaking roar,
the gorilla charged. A great hairy
arm smote aside the thrusting spear,
and the ape closed with the negro.
There was a shattering sound as of
many branches breaking simultane¬
ously, and Gulka slumped silently to
the earth, to lie with arms, legs and
body flung in strange, unnatural
positions. The ape towered an in¬
stant above him, like a statue of the
primordial triumphant.
Far away Kane heard the drums
murmur. The soul of the jungle, the
soul of the jungle: this phrase surged
through his mind with monotonous
reiteration.
The three who had stood in power
before the Black God that night,
where were they? Back in the vil¬
lage where the drums rustled lay
Songa—King Songa, once lord of
life and death, now a shriveled
corpse with a face set in a mask of
horror. Stretched on his back in the
middle of the glade lay he whom
Kane had followed many a league
by land and sea. And Gulka the
gorilla-slayer lay at the feet of his
killer, broken at last by the savagery
which had made him a true son of
this grim land which had at last
overwhelmed him.
Yet the Black God still reigned,
thought Kane dizzily, brooding back
in the shadows of this dark country,
bestial, blood-lusting, caring naught
who lived or died, so that he drank.
Kane watched the mighty ape,
wondering how long it would be be¬
fore the huge simian spied and
charged him. But the gorilla gave
no evidence of having even seen him.
Some dim impulse of vengeance yet
unglutted prompting him, he bent
and raised the negro. Then he
slouched toward the jungle, Gulka’s
limbs trailing limply and grotesque¬
ly. As he reached the trees, the ape
halted, whirling the giant form high
in the air with seemingly no effort,
and dashed the dead man up among
the branches. There was a rending
sound as a broken projecting limb
tore through the body hurled so
powerfully against it, and the dead
gorilla-slayer dangled there hid¬
eously.
A moment the clear moon limned
the great ape in its glimmer, as he
stood silently gazing up at his vic¬
tim ; then like a dark shadow he
melted noiselessly into the jungle.
Kane walked slowly to the middle
of the glade and took up his rapier.
The blood had ceased to flow from
his wounds, and some of his strength
was returning, enough, at least, for
him to reach the coast where his ship
awaited him. He halted at the edge
of the glade for a backward glance
at Le Loup’s upturned face and still
form, white in the moonlight, and at
the dark shadow among the trees that
was Gulka, left by some bestial
whim, hanging as the she-gorilla
hung in the village.
Afar the drums muttered: “The
wisdom of our land is ancient; the
wisdom of our land is dark; whom
we serve, we destroy. Flee if you
would live, but you will never forget
our chant. Never, never,” sang the
drums.
Kane turned to the trail which led
to the beach and the ship waiting
there.
WEIRD TALES
Vulture Crag
(Continued from page 186)
her. “Can you wait alone here for
just a little while?”
The girl nodded. Her eyes seemed
full of a strange dream, but they
were clear and calm.
Donald rushed through the door
which, after all, Zolani had not
thought it necessary to lock, and up
a winding stairway. As he burst into
the entrance hall of the building, he
heard the crackling of flames: the
building had been fired by a thrown
torch, so that the upper portion was
burning before the lower part took
fire. And now those eery screeches
were no longer mystery, but horrible
fact. Around the gloomy mansion
the vultures were wheeling; in and
out through broken window-panes
they flew, and one bore in his talons
something at which Donald could not
look. . . .
H e flung open the outer door and
faced the mob. A shower of
missiles seemed about to descend
around him; the mob, after the man¬
ner of mobs, had gone berserk, and
the light in the eyes of its leaders
was not the light of reason. And
yet, by some miracle of perils escaped
and vital need, Donald made them
listen—made them believe.
“The man you came to find is
dead,” he shouted above the din, and
they heard him. “The man who re¬
built this house—the man who filled
it with corpses, as you think. Men!
That man was about to murder me—
I escaped death at his hands because
you came. Now there is barely time
to avert—to try to avert—a horrible
tragedy. I can explain later, not
now. The bodies you thought were
dead bodies are about to be burnt
here, as though this whole house
were a funeral pyre. Worse still,
these horrible birds-”
(Continued on page 286)
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WEIKD TALES
(Continued from page 285)
Donald felt a responsive shudder
run through the crowd.
“It is worse than you think. These
men-”
He stopped suddenly. He had been
about to tell them that these men
were not dead, but sleeping. But to
say such a thing to these farmers and
small shopkeepers would be to brand
himself as a madman. Moreover,
even if Count Zolani’s apparatus
could yet be saved from the flames,
he was not sure that he knew how to
operate it. And if it could not be
operated, the sleepers would sleep
on. He wondered, miserably, just
when that sleep would become grim,
literal death. And, even as he won¬
dered, he flung out his hands in a
gesture of entreaty. He dared not
identify himself with the count’s
great experiment, if he were to pre¬
serve a hope of attempting to com¬
plete it.
“Carry out the bodies! Save
them!” he begged.
He rushed back, then, to rescue
Dorothy. There were enough of
those others to carry the eighteen
helpless bodies of men out of the
lockers of the “dormuary,” which
had become more sinister than its
name, borrowed from the name of an
abode of death. There were enough,
and they were responding to his ap¬
peal. Would there be time? And
could the basement laboratory be
saved?
When he fought his way back
through suffocating fumes to the
open -air, one of the leaders of the
mob whose face bore the recent mark
of an angry bum, sought him
humbly.
“We have added horror to hor¬
ror,” he confessed, sadly. “We made
our way inside—we found that
dreadful locker room, like the locker
room of a morgue. What has been
going on here? Well, though the
foreigner we heard of who conducted
this establishment is dead, we may
solve that problem later. But—I can
not tell you of the condition in which
we found those bodies. Before the
flames drove them away, the vul¬
tures-”
He covered his face with his hands.
And in that moment, the very air
seemed shattered, and a burst of
flame and smoke belched from the
broken, yawning windows. Already
the structure was falling.
On the grass there lay the body of
one man. Donald had caught sight
of it—it seemed the only one the men
had carried out.
“The flames were getting to them,
and it seemed better to leave them,”
the man beside him said then with a
shudder. “ This one was in much
better condition than any of the
others.”
Looking, Donald saw that vultures
first attack the eyes of an uncon¬
scious victim. Even though they had
not finished their work, never, as
long as he should live, would he be
able to look upon a vulture without
the dreadful feeling of nausea creep¬
ing over him which overcame him
now. In that moment, he abandoned
all hope of saving the laboratory.
Even knowing what he knew, he
agreed with the villager who had
said “better to leave them.”
D orothy and Donald were cared
for in the village. There was an
investigation, and later another, for
all of the eighteen had been impor¬
tant men. The story the two surviv¬
ors had finally to tell was converted
by scientists who walk in beaten
paths, into other terms. Zolani had
been making hypnotic experiments,
and most of his victims, or dupes,
had died. That was the version
which was accepted.
Terrors outlived together bind
closer the ties of love and affection,
and Donald and Dorothy were mar¬
ried before they left the village. And
not until then did Donald question
WEIRD TALES
287
Dorothy ag to the things which had
befallen her absent spirit, during the
brief hour of its wandering.
“I had thought that I, like the
others, was to be left without my
body for two weeks,” she said mus¬
ingly. “And it was such a little
while—only an hour you say, Don¬
ald. Well! Perhaps that is why I
have so little to tell, because the time
was so short—and yet that hour,
though empty, seemed an eternity.
It seemed as though there is no time
to a disembodied spirit—as though
in one instant there is eternity. Be¬
sides that feeling, there was another
—of great emptiness, of space, I sup¬
pose, and a feeling of being alone
there, as a star is alone in space.
And really, Donald—that is all. I
think there will be more than that,
in the life that comes after death.
God has given me a body here on
earth, and eyes to see with, and ears
to hear with. Since my spirit is in¬
destructible, I think some day He will
give me another, perhaps not like
this one which we know, you and I,
but still a way of expressing that
which I am, of comprehending in a
greater or a less degree those things
which are about me.
“As to the count’s experiment—
well, as I said, it was only an hour.
But it left me with two feelings—one
that of my indestructibility, and the
other, a consciousness of eternity.
And it left me with a conviction that
though men should learn to synthe¬
size both body and soul, only God can
make them live, as He sees fit. ’ ’
The
Rays of the Moon
By EVERIL WORRELL
An Eery Qraveyard Story
Watch for this in WEIRD TALES
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WEIRD TALES
Next Month
The
DEVIL-PLANT
By
JOHN MURRAY REYNOLDS
I n the tangled jungles of the
upper Amazon River, far from
the haunts of men, a great botanist
had built his strange laboratory,
and there he created his garden of
horrors—weird monstrosities, eery
giants, nightmare plants and hor¬
rible man-eating flowers. Into this
terrible garden came a beautiful
Portuguese girl, bearing food for
that blood-chilling plant-horror
whose foul breath tainted the eve¬
ning breeze, and then—but that is
the story.
A weird-scientific tale of power¬
ful interest, about a plant that
was more animal than it was plant
—a vegetable thing that left the
place where it was grow and went
stalking forth into the night in
search of human food. This story
will be printed complete in the
September issue of
WEIRD TALES
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WEIRD TAI.ES
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Enclosed find {1 for special five months
subscription to “Weird Tales” to begin with
the September Issue ($1.25 in Canada). Spe¬
cial offer void unless remittance is ac¬
companied by coupon.
City
The Vengeance of
Nitocris
(Continued from page 260)
revelers and all had been killed.
However, this theory was speedily
dispelled when a voyager from down
the river reported having passed the
temple in a perfectly firm condition
but declared that he had seen no
signs of life about the place—only
the brightly canopied boats, drifting
at their moorings.
Uneasiness steadily increased
throughout the day. Sage persons
recalled the great devotion of the
queen toward her dead brother;, and
noted that the guests at the banquet
of last night had been composed
almost entirely of those who had
participated in his slaying.
When in the evening the queen ar¬
rived in the city, pale, silent, and
obviously nervous, threatening crowds
blocked the path of her chariot, de¬
manding roughly an explanation of
the disappearance of her guests.
Haughtily she ignored them and
lashed forward the horses of her
chariot, pushing aside the tight mass
of people. Well she knew, however,
that her life would be doomed as soon
as they confirmed their suspicions.
She resolved to meet her inevitable
death in a way that befitted one of
her rank, not at the filthy hands of
a mob.
Therefore upon her entrance into
the palace she ordered her slaves to
fill instantly her boudoir with hot
and smoking ashes. When this had
been done, she went to the room,
entered it, closed the door and locked
it securely, and then flung herself
down upon a couch in the center of
the room. In a short time the
scorching heat and the suffocating
thick fumes of the smoke overpow¬
ered her. Only her beautiful dead
body remained for the hands of the
mob.
Don’t make a monkey
of yourself ”
I sat down at the pian
cried Bob as
WAS spending my vacation
with Bob when I met his 1MI
cousin, Helen. It was love ; ; jfl
first sight with me. But un- A, -=TtW. 1
Innately she didn’t seem to JmtkjiBtJP \
I
at first sight
fortunately s
feel the same way aoout it.
“You’ve got nothing to worry
about,” Bob insisted when 1
told him my tale of woe. “Just
leave it to me. All you need is
a little publicity . . .”
The very next day he an¬
nounced that he’d just had a
long talk with Helen.
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